The Reachman: Night of Tears
by Bootstrap Bill
Summary: The Emperor is slain, the throne of Tamriel is fallen. To overcome the troubling days ahead, the citizens of the Empire must first survive the night. The Oblivion Crisis has begun. Read, Review and Enjoy!
1. Author's Note

Writing **The Reachman** has been great fun and while I am determined to complete the series, I am sadly prevented from doing so on the timeline I envisioned. In just a few months I will deploy overseas. Yes, there are military folks that enjoy writing Fan Fiction. Who would've imagined? By the time I return, _TES V: Skyrim_, will have premiered and we will all rush to write new stories and Oblivion will likely fade into obscurity.

To those of you who have followed the series, first I thank you and I hope you have enjoyed it thus far. **The Reachman: Night of Tears** is the fifth book in the series and the second book detailing the events of the Elder Scrolls IV game. **The Reachman: A New Dawn** is the next book in the series and will likely be finished within the next month.

Until then, enjoy and don't forget to read the previous books or you will be lost in the sauce!

Bootstrap Bill


	2. Chapter 1 Part 1

******1**

**28 Last Seed 3E433, Kvatch**

"To the faithful citizens of the Empire and inhabitants there within: Let it be known that on this most tragic of days, the twenty-seventh of Last Seed in the four-hundred and thirty-third year of the Third Era, the year of our Divine Lord Akatosh, in keeping with ancient precedence and laws as outlined by our founding charter that I _High Chancellor Ocato_ of the Elder Council have assumed the duties as chief steward of the Empire. It is with a heavy heart that I announce the untimely deaths of our great and most revered Emperor Uriel Septim VII and his children, Crown Princes Enman, Ebel and Geldall Septim.

It is during great times of duress when our faith is tested the most. Though our Empire encompasses great religious and cultural differences, I beseech all of you, as universal servants to the almighty Divines, to keep the memory of our Emperor and his family in your thoughts and prayers. We may never truly understand what the Divines have destined for us but like a guiding light it is _our faith_ that will see us through.

I can assure all faithful citizens and servants of our late Emperor that every measure will be taken to bring the perpetrators of this crime to justice. For this reason, the Elder Council has forbade any and all forms of written documentation to be published concerning the identities of the assassins or the events surrounding the death of the Imperial family which might be deemed to be speculative or of a treasonous nature. Additionally, any and all forms of public gatherings with the specific intent to offend the honor and reputation of the Septim bloodline are hereby banned until further notice.

As a precaution against further aggression, there will be an increased Legion presence in your cities and towns. Obey all lawful orders and aid these heroes of the Empire in any way you are able. The Elder Council has also granted additional jurisdiction to local law enforcement as outlined in Amendment 142.17 of the Imperial Charter of Tamriel.

I urge all citizens to approach the coming days with a calm and constructive attitude. The Empire is in capable hands."

* * *

As if it had been rehearsed, the throngs of citizens lifted their voices in a deafening roar. The crier tried but failed to silence the crowd. Kvatch city guardsmen fought to keep the hundreds of people from swarming the unlucky soul who had been tasked with announcing the demise of the Imperial family. _You must've read the damn thing wrong you fetcher! All of 'em can't be dead! _The accusations, questions and insults continued.

From several feet behind the swarm, Zair watched with sickening guilt at what his inaction had caused. Inside a nearby tavern, Zidvyda and Khochi were packing up for the long and solemn journey back to the Temple. Once in Rihad, Zair would report to the Hall Council of his inability to safeguard the Imperial family and offer his resignation as Hall Master. There would be protests amongst the Ansei Masters, all of whom Zair knew personally, but he was resolute in his decision. _I could've sent two teams! Why didn't I send more? _Zair realized that his personal prejudices against the Empire had now cost four innocent men their lives and shattered the fragile stability of millions more. The women cried, the children begged for explanations, the men shook their fists in anger. _It's going to get so much worse. Ruptga spare me from having to bare witness to another one of my mistakes. _

"You know, when I was about fifteen years old, I stole my father's favorite hunting bow." A soothing voice began. Zair did not turn to see who it was. "He was an archer in the Legion, an _expert_ marksman. His bow was like a holy relic, never to be touched, just admired from afar. When I finally did muster the courage to take it, I dashed from our cottage in the middle of the night, tripped on a stone and smashed the bow into pieces! I was so scared that I foolishly tried to hide what I had done and discarded the pieces down our well. You can imagine the look on my father's face the next morning when he pulled up a fresh pail of water and found his favorite bow floating inside. I felt so ashamed of myself for letting my father down. I looked… kind of like how you look now."

"Is it really that obvious?"

"Yes. Is there something you would like to talk about? I don't mean to be nosey. It's just that I am a priest from the Temple. I see this kind of thing every day."

Zair, who himself served as a loyal priest to the gods of Yokuda, had never once spoken with anyone other than Master Qarim about the doubts and disappointments of his life. Never had he divulged the pain of leaving behind his one and only love, or discussed the guilt in his heart for all the people he killed. The demeanor of the young priest was calm and cordial. It had been a long while since he engaged in friendly conversation with an _outsider. _

"What did your father do to you?" Zair asked.

"He beat me senseless!"

Zair and the priest chuckled, though their enjoyment was quickly stifled by an upsurge of name calling and finger-pointing from the crowd. A fierce guard captain motioned for his guardsmen to draw their swords. This action only seemed to infuriate the concerned citizens.

"It's quite interesting," Zair began "to see so many people up in arms about the death of a man who they never even got to meet, never got to see or touch. In Hammerfell where I am from, most nomads aren't even aware _there is an Empire, _let alone an Emperor."

"But one can only wonder what state of disarray Tamriel would be in without the Septim bloodline to protect us."

"Wonder no more my friend, we're going to find out." Zair answered.

Zair and the priest turned their attention back to the crowd now practically at one another's throats. The city guard captain took center stage.

"Citizens of Kvatch! As sanctioned by the Elder Council of Tamriel and keeping with the precedents and laws of the Imperial Charter and with the authority bestowed upon me by his grace Count Ormellius Goldwine, I am hereby enacting a mandatory curfew from the hours of eight of the evening to eight of the morning. During this time no citizens or occupant within the city walls shall be allowed outside of their homes or place of lodging, nor shall any citizens or occupant be allowed to leave the city. I order you all to return to your homes and remain calm. Disperse!"

Zair and the priest exchanged worried glances.

"We're ready to go when you are." Zidvyda emerged from tavern entrance, Khochi just a few feet behind.

The Ansei looked towards the city gate where four guardsmen had already begun the process of latching shut the great wooden and metal doors with heavy pieces of log and chain.

"I think you better remain here for the evening. The guard is very strict. They usually don't make exceptions." The priest suggested.

Zair agreed.

"Where are the others?" Khochi asked.

"Ayisha and Jiles are waiting for us at the Brina Inn and Roe should be along in a day or so. Why don't you two go get some rest?"

Zidvyda and Khochi bowed and returned to their rooms in the tavern.

"Well my friend, if you aren't in any hurry I welcome you to come visit me at the Chapel of Akatosh tomorrow. Albeit our conversation was brief, I did enjoy speaking with you."

"So did I."

The two priests parted ways. Zair watched in disappointment as the city guardsmen herded the citizens like cattle to their homes. Only the judgment of his Ansei peers could cleanse him of the shame he now fought to bury deep within his heart. He impatiently calculated the hours until daybreak when he could leave behind this failure. Thankfully, it seemed the bright orange glow of the sun's rise was already peaking above the city walls.


	3. Chapter 1 Part 2

"It was at least another three months before we truly understood what happened. The attack started at around eleven in the evening with the opening of three _lesser Oblivion gates_. These gates in turn allowed the Daedrato open their Great Gate, the only portal large enough to accommodate their _siege machine._"

Zidvyda closed his eyes and reached for his small porcelain cup of tea.

"Their siege machine was so large that it towered at least fifty feet above the walls of Kvatch. The attack began when the machine fired its main weapon at the Arena, destroying it and the surrounding homes and shoppes completely. Those who were not attending the rally in the town square were killed in their homes and spared the torture of what followed. Next, the machine set its sights on the castle."

"But the castle wasn't in range."

"That's right. The Daedra had opened their Great Gate too close to the walls and as a result, their siege machine could not aim its main weapon low enough to destroy the castle. Instead, the Daedra sufficed for three more blasts from their main weapon before retreating back through the Gate. I was in a tavern at least two hundred yards away from the second blast site and the building was utterly destroyed by the shock wave."

"It must've been frightening." Sean felt foolish for making such an obvious comment.

"I would have been very scared if I had been awake. The blast knocked me unconscious. When I awoke, the Daedra had already battered down the city gates and were underway in their _cleansing _of the population."

"What did you do?"

"The Daedra were well armed with heavy armour, battle axes, maces and hammers and were accompanied by mages who summoned powerful _elemental atronachs_. I was unarmed and my gear was buried beneath the rubble so I hid and waited for an opportune moment to strike."

Father Zidvyda was growing very uncomfortable remembering the tragic night. He forcefully placed his cup of tea back down onto the small knee-high table.

"I had to listen while civilians were being hunted, _slaughtered_. Men, women, children, they did not discriminate nor did they show mercy. They crushed in the heads of the wounded and stabbed bodies over and over to make sure they were dead. When I could no longer stand to watch, I charged one of the demons when he was distracted. I tackled that _son of a bitch _to the ground but his metal armour was covered in sharp points and I was cut."

The Dunmer rolled up the sleeve covering his left arm and revealed a series of scars that had healed over time.

"The metal punctured my forearms and biceps here and here." He pointed. "I was able to get that _bastard's _weapon and I beat his head in with it. As you can imagine, this caught the attention of his companions_._ I used whatever I could to defend myself, wooden beams still burning with flame, broken glass and stones. I even choked one of the foul beasts with my belt, but there were just too many of them. I was overwhelmed and struck to the ground. As I lay writhing in pain, a city guardsman saved me. He managed to kill many Daedra but did not survive the night. His sacrifice allowed me time to escape. I caught a glimpse of some civilians fleeing towards the Chapel, so I found Khochi and Zair and followed them inside."

Sean wanted to ask the Dunmer about his friends but was afraid that it may bring up even more painful memories. The young author chose to remain silent.

"There were only twenty or so civilians and city guardsmen in the Chapel at first. I remember there was arguing going on amongst some of the soldiers about whether or not to stay put or make a dash for the city gate. I was on the other side of the room helping some injured civilians. Three guardsmen eventually decided they would try to escape and they asked if anyone was willing to join them. A few civilians raised their hands and they all left. It's not likely they survived."

Father Zidvyda took another slow sip of his tea.

"We remained in the Chapel for…I'm guessing it was about two to three hours before the guard managed to break through and clear a path down to the base camp."

"You didn't venture outside at all?"

"No, we decided it was better to remain inside at least until morning. We assumed the Daedra would have to leave at some point. There were also a good number of injured civilians we couldn't move without help. I still remember their faces…scared, crying_. _I remember there being only one child, a little girl. She was so quiet."

Sean felt ashamed for turning the Festival of Blades, a day of celebration, into a time of sad memories.

"How I wish I had been there to help Roe close that Gate. To bring the fight back to the enemy…" Father Zidvyda balled his fists in anger.

"Wait a moment. _Roe _closed the Kvatch Oblivion Gate?"

Zidvyda nodded. "With help from Ayisha, Jiles and everyone else that showed up, including the _Hero of Kvatch_."

"Forgive my confusion. I've conducted extensive interviews and chronicled the events of that night in great detail. As far as history is concerned, Ulysses Dragonheart closed the Kvatch Oblivion Gate and never have I found cause to think otherwise. He is a hero…I mean _was _a hero_. _By the Divines I am so confused. How could I have overlooked such an important detail?"

The young author furrowed his brow in frustration, wanting only for the Dunmer priest to leave him alone so that he could wallow in his failure. Father Zidvyda sensed the author's unease and comforted him with some more tea.

"I am familiar with your work on the Oblivion Crisis and thus far I have yet to find an account more accurately detailed than yours. But without knowing what to look for, what questions to ask, you would never uncover the truth. My companions and I made sure that certain details of the Crisis were omitted so that our presence would remain unknown. Our misdirection and subtlety has kept this Temple safe for many years."

"I understand your motivations, but Balderic uses your lies to justify his rule. Roe's story…_your story, _represents the truth. If people knew how history _really _happened then we could undermine the rule of this Pretender and put an end to this evil. Please Father, share with me what you know."

The Dunmer let out a heavy sigh and nodded in agreement.

"I will help you how I can Mister Finn, but sadly I do not have all the answers. As a historian, there is little information I can offer that you don't already know. I would suggest you revisit your research. Scrutinize every detail, take into account each coincidence you relegated to chance and therein perhaps you will discover that the truth was there all along."


	4. Chapter 1 Part 3

**Skingrad, Cyrodiil, Three years earlier**

"Thank you for taking the time to see me."

Sean removed his wide-brimmed hat and bowed to the young girl standing in the doorway. She curtsied and led him through the main foyer of her home and up a staircase.

"My grandfather is very old and usually does not see visitors, but he was eager to assist you in your research Mister Finn. If you don't mind me asking, what topic are you studying?"

"I am writing a book on the Oblivion Crisis."

The young girl who had introduced herself as Claire held the door open for Sean as he entered a large upstairs bedroom. Sitting upright in a bed facing an open window was an elderly man Sean assumed to be Claire's grandfather, Captain Dorian Archimbaud.

Having spent nearly five months locked away in the dark undercroft of Cloud Ruler Temple conducting investigative work on the Crisis, the young author's first literary piece was almost complete. There was still so much work to be done and many unanswered questions, not to mention he had yet to select a title for his book.

This latest and most likely last endeavour before his final revisions would bring him back to initiation of the Crisis - the Siege and subsequent Battle of Kvatch. The interviews he had conducted with the survivors all yielded similar accounts of what happened. Their recollections were painful and limited by the confusion and pandemonium of that terrible night. Captain Archimbaud, according to the journal of a Legionnaire Sergeant turned Blade, was not only a veteran of the Battle of Kvatch but had managed to survive the Crisis, the War of Julianos, and all the terrible years that followed. Many of the soldiers with whom Captain Archimbaud served were not so fortunate. The elderly Breton was the last of a dying breed.

"Grandfather." Claire placed a gentle hand on the old man's frail shoulder. "This is the man who was asking about you grandfather."

"Oh? Bring him a chair, and some tea and _sweet-rounds _please."

Claire pulled a wooden rocking chair and positioned it facing towards the old man. Sean stood in front of the elderly Breton and introduced himself.

"Sir, _Senior Leftenant _Sean Finn, 3rd Maritime Legionnaires."

"A Deckhand?At ease _seafarer._"

The old man smiled, his cheeks wrinkled and his eyes were warm and welcoming. He was covered from head to toe in sleeping attire, his legs wrapped tightly in a hand-woven blanket. Captain Archimbaud's short silvery hair was unkempt, his teeth were slightly yellow and he smelled of strong cologne. The Breton motioned for his guest to take a seat.

"Thank you for seeing me Captain."

"Please, call me Dorian. It is I who should be thanking you. My Claire tells me you are writing a book on the Crisis?"

"Yes sir."

"That is good. Ten years from now, I and most of my friends, _the ones who haven't already died_, will pass on to the afterlife. Our deeds, the indelible mark we have left on this world will not fade so long as there are smart young men like you to tell our story."

"It is but a small contribution I can make to thank you for your service." Sean bowed.

Dorian smiled and returned the gesture.

"Well mannered and educated. Are you a son of _High Rock_?"

"No sir, I was born in County Anvil here in Cyrodiil. My father Matthias Finn wasborn in Camlorn."

"Truly? I was born in Ilessan Hills just south of Camlorn. From which village does your father hail?"

"Villae." Sean answered.

"Ah well, you are a son of High Rock either way. Please give your father my regards."

"I would be honoured to."

Claire returned with a plate of bearing three glasses of hot tea and an array of _sweet-rounds_, a traditional Breton desert that was quickly gaining great popularity with the other provinces. These round shaped delicacies were covered in a crystalline granular substance with the texture of salt. Sean was pleasantly surprised that the granules tasted sweet like honey.

"These are _delicious_." Sean complimented.

"That's my little _cookie._" Dorian laughed.

"Grandfather please!" Claire was embarrassed. "That's grandfather's nickname for me."

"Ever since she was a little girl." Dorian finished. "My Claire has always been such a wonderful cook. I bet you've never had sweet roundslike this before, have you?"

"Not in my life. These are wonderful. What are these crystals?"

"They come from the _sucre cane _that grows in Ilessan Hills. Our family has been harvesting _sucre _for years." Claire humbly boasted taking a bite of a sweet round.

"Very well then, on to business. You don't mind if Claire listens in on our conversation, do you Mister Finn? She is quite fond of my stories."

Claire smiled, her cheeks blushed bright red.

"Of course not." Sean returned the smile.

"Excellent. Where do we start?"

"Let's begin on the 28th of Last Seed."


	5. Chapter 2 Part 1

**2**

_I joined the Imperial Legion at age seventeen and after completing my basic schooling I was assigned to the 5__th__ Legion, 2__nd__ Auxiliary, responsible for patrolling the Gold Road between Kvatch and Skingrad. I was only six months into my service when Kvatch was attacked. _

__

_

* * *

_

The light from the explosion was so great that even from nearly ten miles away, one could still determine its origin. A powerful eruption of fire and energy lasting for several seconds engulfed the city of Kvatch. From its position high atop a plateau, the city burned much like a flame in a lighthouse, bathing the Colovian highlands in a bright orange glow. So dumbfounding was this sight that the young Legionnaire struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. The possibility that the city was under attack didn't even enter his mind until thick black smoke began to billow from within the city walls.

"Sergeant, _what in Oblivion was that?_"

Corporal Archimbaud removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm, still marveling in awe at the fiery spectacle. There was another explosion of light and fire complemented by a concussion of thunder that shook the ground beneath him.

"The city is under attack!"

"That's impossible." The Corporal retorted.

Sergeant Kiernan quickly spun his horse around and faced the young Legion soldier.

"Put your _gods-damn _helmet back on and follow me! We have to get to the city!"

The experienced Sergeant kicked at the sides of his horse and galloped off west along the Gold Road towards Kvatch. Corporal Archimbaud fumbled with his _barbute _Legion helmet, slamming it down upon his head crookedly before hurrying to catch up with his superior officer. As a member of the Auxiliary, Dorian had not expected to see any sort of combat. Each Legion was assigned an Auxiliary unit whose sole purpose was peacekeeping and internal policing. While city and county governments were charged with providing their own form of security, usually in the way of a city guard, the roads and highways were under the jurisdiction of the Imperial government. Every Legionnaire was a rank and file soldier but Dorian received special training to serve in the Auxiliary. His duties included arresting smugglers, safeguarding commercial convoys, prisoner transport, and the occasional raid on bandit hideaways. His Sergeant was a seven-year veteran of the conventional Legions. His experience and valour in many small-scale engagements had advanced him quickly among the ranks but Corporal Archimbaud knew that Sergeant Kiernan had never encountered any situation like the one unfolding within the great stone walls of Kvatch.

* * *

The sky was scorched blood red and the sound of distant thunder growled like the belly of a hungry animal. The overwhelming stench of sulfur and burnt wood filled Dorian's nostrils and his skin tingled as if he were standing too close to an open flame. The air was warm, making it difficult for his horse to breathe. His steed panted and heaved as the Legionnaire begged it to press on knowing with every minute that passed, more innocent lives were in danger.

Neither Sergeant Kiernan nor any Legionnairecould fathom what had occurred or determine which enemy of the Empire possessed the means and the motivation to launch such an audacious attack. Whoever they may be, Dorian knew they would answer to the Empire's mighty Legions… as soon as they arrived. For now, Cyrodiil's brave citizens were answering the call to arms. Several more armed horsemen, mostly Fighters and Mages Guild associates, had joined in the frantic rush to reach the walls of Kvatch. Dorian could see Sergeant Kiernan at the base of the plateau. Two Kvatch city guardsmen dressed in steel armour and white tunics were escorting a group of survivors to a large clearing. Most of them were injured, burned and bruised from the attack.

"_Corporal Archimbaud! Over here!" _

Sergeant Kiernan was motioning for the volunteers to start helping the injured civilians. Corporal Archimbaud obeyed, moving calmly but swiftly to his Sergeant's side. Sergeant Kiernan questioned the two city guardsmen while Dorian helped establish a temporary field clinic to treat the wounded. Several of the volunteers were healers, mages trained in the Arcane art of Restoration. Their mastery of _healing magicka _would save many lives.

"Hey you! Help me over here _will 'ya!_"

Dorian turned to see a tattooed Bosmer holding a teenage girl in her arms. He quickly rushed over and helped the unique looking Wood Elf carry the injured girl to a bedroll. Dorian was no medic and before he could ask the Bosmer for assistance, she was gone. Panicked and unsure of what to do next, the Corporal tried to remember the two weeks of basic first aid training he received in the Camps. _Calm down, _he ordered to himself. _Assess the situation, treat the wounds and stop the bleeding. _The young girl was bleeding profusely from a large gash in her side. Dorian called out for towels, sheets and water.

"It's going to be okay! Stay awake!" He comforted. "What's your name?"

One of the uninjured civilians arrived with a wad of towels and a canteen of water. Dorian accepted the bundle and poured the water over the girl's wound, then padded the area with the towels.

"Come on sweetie, what's your name?"

"_Rudolph!" _She cried.

"That's an interesting name for a girl."

"_No!_ _My brother! Where's my brother?"_

"I'm sure he's fine. You're going to be fine!"

The girl's eyes fluttered, she grew limp and stopped breathing. Dorian lightly slapped her on the cheek trying to prevent her from losing consciousness. The blood on his hands smeared across the girl's face.

"Move! Get clear of her!" A mage ordered, shoving Dorian aside.

The healer clasped his hands together, and then slowly separated them. His hands cracked and snapped with the sounds of hundreds of tiny lightning bolts. He placed his hands on the girl's chest and sent a shock of electricity through her. Her body jolted but she did not wake. The mage repeated this process several times until much to Dorian's surprise, the girl's eyes opened and she began breathing. Without a word the gifted healer moved on. It was one of the most amazing sights Dorian had ever seen.


	6. Chapter 2 Part 2

"I think that's everyone. We should leave before those _monsters _come after us!" A frightened Kvatch city guardsman remarked.

"That can't be _all _of the survivors!" Sergeant Kiernan was angry. "We have to go back and help the others. Tell me, how did you get out of the city?"

"I don't know everything happened so fast. We just…_I_ _just_ _ran_."

The guard was panicked and shaking.

"Calm down for _god's sake_ and try to remember what happened_._" Sergeant Kiernan demanded.

Dorian had only been serving with the Sergeant for four months and knew him to be a no-nonsense, tough-as-nails soldier. He would not stand for this behaviour, no matter how dire the situation was.

"Captain Matius somehow managed to establish a perimeter and help the civilians escape." The guard recalled. "_Dear gods! He's still up there!_"

"There are more of our troops alive?"

"Yes! The Captain sent us down to escort the civilians to Anvil. He is still holding the line!"

"Then we need to get up and help them."

The two Kvatch guardsmen grew very uncomfortable at the prospect of having to return to battle. They bowed their heads in silent shame and stammered, trying to find an excuse to stay behind.

"Someone should stay with the wounded."

Sergeant Kiernan, whether out of pity or disgust, allowed the two guards to remain behind. Dorian hurriedly stripped himself of all non-essential gear, taking only his Legionnaire shield, steel broadsword and canteen of water. He wasn't sure how the other soldiers felt, but he was terrified. He tried to hide his fear and set a positive example for the non-military fighters although he was sure most of them had more experience in combat than he. The volunteers were adventurers, highwaymen and hedge wizards, Fighters and Mages guild. Dorian estimated there were at least thirty present in the base camp with several more straggling in to investigate and lend a hand where necessary. Sergeant Kiernan organized the volunteers into a standard _rank and file _formation, one line of front row infantry with a second row of ranged units. The experienced Sergeant took command of one platoon and assigned Corporal Dorian to the other.

"Corporal! Get these men moving!" Sergeant Kiernan gave the order to mobilize.

Dorian nodded. The young Breton summoned as much courage as he could and raised his sword in the air, boldly marching up the mountain side to the city gates.

* * *

When Corporal Archimbaud's column reached the summit, the enormity of the attack revealed itself to be far worse than anyone could've imagined. Dorian would have been relieved to see an army of skilled _Redguard_ warriors scaling the walls of Kvatch, or a wave of brutal _Orcs_ with their siege weaponry bashing down the gates of the city. To the great misfortune of an Empire and ultimately all of Tamriel, this was not the case. Somehow, some way, _Oblivion _itself had unleashed its murderous and inexhaustible brutality upon the inhabitants of Kvatch.

Dorian Archimbaud was a son of High Rock and a _gods-loving _Breton who knew the power of the almighty Divines was supreme in both Aetherius and Nirn. By the grace of the Nine both his mother and father were still alive and healthy, and his family's crops grew well every year, providing sustenance to his community. Dorian attended services every Fredas at the Chapel of Dibella in Anvil, listening to the Primate's sermons and praying at the altar of his patron Divine, Zenithar. Long was he forewarned of the dangers of associating oneself with Daedric Princes - the immortal rulers of Oblivion who openly challenged the Divines with godlike powers of their own. Daedra were schemers, constantly wreaking havoc upon the inhabitants of Tamriel, which they coveted with envious eyes. Those who lived an evil existence would pass onto the realm of Oblivion in the afterlife. There they would remain, constantly tortured and humiliated for all eternity. The Chapels preached that living a life of piety and decency would save one from this awful fate. That only made the situation in Kvatch all the more frightening. _Why are the Divines allowing this to happen? What have we done wrong?_

Overwhelming heat and thick black smoke choked his every breath. Dorian led his column closer to the city. Amazingly the stone walls remained intact, though they were now more of a hindrance keeping the civilians trapped inside and preventing the soldiers from rescuing them. Barring access to the doors of Kvatch was a large fiery portal he guessed to be at least one hundred feet high and fifty feet across. Surrounding the entrance to the portal, the Kvatch city guard manned a series of hastily constructed defensive walls built of wooden spikes and stone rubble.

_"Here comes more of 'em!" _One of the guardsmen warned.

From the entrance to the fiery gateway, a wave of _Xivali _materialized. These blue skinned humanoid creatures stood at least seven to nine feet in height with large horns protruding from their heads and red tattoos decorated their ashy skin. Armed with battle-axes and claymores, the Xivali led an array of lesser _daedroth_, Daedric underlings, into battle. The Xivali raised their hands in the air and summoned packs of _clannfear's, _aggressive lizard-like animals armed with sharp claws, a pointed beak and long whipping tails_. _The clannfears scaled the palisade defenses with ease and rushed the first line Kvatch defenders, biting clean through wooden shields, chainmail links, flesh and bone. Two guardsmen panicked and hastily retreated only to become quick prey for the clannfear. The small creatures leapt high into the air, latched onto the backs of the soldiers and tore them to pieces with their mighty claws.

"_Fire!_" Sergeant Kiernan ordered.

Charging into battle as fierce as any Legionnaire, the Guild mages shot bursts of scorching fire to melt the vicious clannfears into charred crumply piles of skin. The hedge wizards used powerful _telekinesis spells_ to capture and arrest the movements of the daedroth, hurtling them at great speeds back towards the Xivali which summoned them.

"Advance!"

The command was reckless but Dorian was eager to join in the fight. He led a hasty advance against the Xivali, encircling them from their right side. The blue-skinned demons met them head on and four volunteers were cut down immediately. The ranks quickly disintegrated into chaos, each warrior having to engage in one-on-one combat with the enemy. Some of the volunteers were clearly experienced, first using their shields to distract their opponents then moving in to attack with swords, bows and arrows. The Xivali carried axes and battle staves the size of small trees and swung them so forcefully that no shield could withstand a direct blow.

One of the volunteers, a Nordic Fighters Guild Warrior of considerable size and stature, tackled a Xivali to the ground and tore the beast's horns from its head. Before the Nord could come to his feet, a war hammer snapped his back nearly in two and the Warrior fell limp. Dorian thrust his sword at the enemy, aiming for where he estimated the daedra's heart would be. The Xivali's skin was tough like leather and his sword tip caused no damage. He panicked, thinking for a moment that the daedra might be invincible to mortal weapons. A second time proved this theory incorrect. Dorian successfully pushed the blade point through the daedra's chest. Before he could finish the beast with a killing strike, Dorian was tackled to the ground by his Sergeant; a move that saved him from being decapitated by a swinging battle-axe.

Sergeant Kiernan was quickly swarmed by three hungry clannfears. The seasoned veteran fought with all his effort, kicking, punching, and using his shield to push the clannfear back. As Dorian watched helplessly, lying among the broken and torn bodies of the fallen Kvatch defenders, the young Corporal resigned himself to defeat and struggled back to his feet. A Xivali and its clannfear underlings saw the Corporal standing unopposed amidst the fray. His heart beat loudly against his chest. The daedra raised its broadsword against the Legionnaire…and fell dead to the ground with an arrow protruding from its skull.

Much to his amazement, Dorian turned to see that some of the volunteers were actually pushing back the enemy advance. _Three volunteers_ appeared on the enemy's right flank. Their faces were worn, their blades bloodied and their battle cry echoed in unison off the walls of Kvatch. From a ridge overlooking the field of battle, a red-haired warrior strung his bow and rained an unending storm of arrows down upon the enemy. The Xivali were stubborn to fall and it took several precisely aimed arrows to fell the mightiest of the daedroth. Leading the charge on foot, Dorian recognized the tattooed Bosmer who carried the Breton girl down to the base camp. Her grace and agility were unmatched. She somersaulted around her enemies, slicing at the vital muscles at the backs of their heels, knees and arms. Her movements were so fast and erratic that the Xivali were cutting each other in their attempts to land a killing strike on the nimble Wood Elf.

Her comrade did not favour such an elegant fighting style, instead using a longsword and shield to overpower the enemy. His fighting style was similar to that of a Legionnaire's, though his ferocity and deliberately aimed strikes demonstrated he was an advanced swordsman. The Bosmer and her Cyrod counterpart were skilled and slew many enemies, but eventually their progress was halted and soon they were fighting for their lives. The red-haired warrior quickly came to their aid, rushing from down the ridge into the fray armed with a wooden spear. Together the three warriors were able to keep the Xivali occupied while the remaining defenders fell back to safety.

"Form ranks! Columns of twos! Shields up!"

Dorian ordered his platoon into formation. The young Corporal assumed the command position in the middle rear of the formation.

A bolt of lightning shot at an incredible speed towards the defenders huddled behind the last barrier. Debris and splintering wood peppered the guardsmen, the concussion of the blast knocking three of them to the ground. Dorian immediately identified the source of these magical attacks; a spinning vortex of stone sending out beams of electricity recklessly in all directions. The Corporal was awestruck and ordered his column to hold their position.

"It's an Atronach! Run for it!" One of the volunteers warned, turning to flee.

Before Dorian could respond, a powerful beam of lightning soared towards his column's right flank, impacting with one of the volunteer soldiers. The concussion from the blast was so powerful that it knocked two soldiers clear off the plateau.

"Go for cover! Take cover!" Dorian ducked behind the base of a charred tree stump.

Another chain of lightning attacks electrified the ground, tossing tufts of dirt and stone into the air. Dorian tried to tuck his legs behind the stump, but the heavy steel armour hindered his movements. The Corporal watched the spinning vortex solidify into a stone giant towering fifteen feet tall with fists the size of small boulders. Its body was formless, a collection of small rocks hovering in orbit around a central core in its abdomen. The Atronach stomped closer towards him. Unable to formulate a coherent plan of attack, Dorian readied his sword for a direct charge.

From several feet to his left, a wooden spear soared through the air and pierced through the behemoth. In a brilliant explosion of light and energy, the Atronach suddenly burst apart raining down stone pieces upon the battlefield. Two Kvatch guardsmen bravely charged out onto the battlefield to rescue wounded comrades. Much to their surprise the stones began to move as if alive, drawn back together in a whirlwind. The deadly funnel knocked the guardsmen to the ground forcing more of their companions to venture out to retrieve them.

"Stay there! Don't move!"

Now with a slender katana firmly in hand, the red-haired warrior dashed forward to confront the Atronach. He stabbed and sliced hoping to find some sort of weakness. The warrior's strikes cut effortlessly through the magical bindings causing no damage. The warrior shuffled side to side, dodging the mighty blows of the Atronach. Foolishly, the behemoth raised its arms above its head, summoning another large magical attack. As it prepared to electrocute the tiny mortal, the warrior quickly thrust his katana into the Atronach's abdominal core. The stone beast exploded into a thousand tiny fragments and sent the red-haired warrior flying backwards, breaking through a small tree and impacting with a boulder. His muscles twitched uncontrollably. He was completely paralyzed, helpless to combat the enemies coming to finish him off.

"Battle formation! Reform the lines!" Corporal Archimbaud emerged from his hiding place, hoping to inspire bravery in the scared volunteer fighters.

The soldiers came to their feet and assembled into two columns, one positioned behind the other. At his right flank was the second formation, already poised for battle. The Xivali addressed their own ranks, goading the frightened defenders to attack.

"Not another inch gentlemen!" Dorian drew his sword and stood proud and unafraid before his men. "Let's send these _bastards _back to Oblivion."


	7. Chapter 2 Part 3

The young Corporal stood straddled over his fallen enemy. He watched the Xivilai defiantly reach for his battle-axe lying just out of arm's reach. Dorian balled his fists together and pummeled the daedra's face until it became a mushy pile of goo. After several hard fought minutes, the tide of battle shifted and daedric reinforcements stopped emerging from the gateway. A scrawny-looking Bosmer wizard barely clothed in a tattered robe had the honour of slaying the last of the daedroth. The defenders of Kvatch cheered their victory but Dorian knew that so long as the fiery gateway was open, more daedra could return at any time. With a temporary lull in the fighting, the defenders could enjoy a brief rest. Volunteers lined up to receive a quick healing touch from the mages then set about repairing the defenses.

"Bring the wounded back down to the base camp!" Sergeant Kiernan ordered from the opposite side of the battlefield.

Dorian was glad his mentor was still alive. Seventeen of the volunteers had lost their lives in the initial battle and it was a gruesome task recovering their parts. Four others were so gravely wounded that they were forced to return to the base camp. If the defenders could not reinforce their lines with fresh troops, they would not be able to hold their position. _By the Nine I pray the Legion gets here soon. _Dorian's unit, the 2nd Auxiliary, was stationed nearby in Anvil. Hopefully the explosions and fires would alert them of the danger and the Auxiliary Commander would send the one-hundred and fifty man unit to Kvatch. Until these troops arrived, a handful of Cyrodiil's bravest would have to hold the line against Oblivion.

Sergeant Kiernan and Corporal Archimbaud walked amongst the troops, allowing each soldier to take a tiny gulp of refreshing cool water from their canteens. As the Legionnaires continued to give aid, they were approached by one of the city guardsmen.

"Thank you for the assistance. My name is Savlian Matius and I'm captain of the Kvatch guard."

"Sergeant Kiernan, Fifth Legion, Second Auxiliary." He introduced.

"Corporal Archimbaud. We saw the fires from the Gold Road."

"I'm grateful you all came when you did, I can really use your help. We have to get back into the city. There are still survivors in the Chapel but I can't get to them without closing that damn gate!"

"How are we supposed to do that?"

"I've already sent a team of men inside but they haven't returned…I fear the worst. I don't know how it can be done but it must be possible!"

"_If you need someone to go inside that gate_, _I'm your man._"

One of the volunteers boldly approached Captain Matius. He was dressed in sackcloth and a set of antiquated, rusty iron armour. He was dirty, even for having just fought in a battle. The man's long brown-blonde hair fell messily onto his boney shoulders and he had not shaven for some time. His accent was thick, but Dorian's father born in central High Rock spoke with a similar inflection.

"You would be willing to do that?" The captain asked with great surprised. "You understand this might mean your death?"

"_I do."_

"Who are you and from where do you hail?"

"The name's_ Connor Ramsdell _and I hail from the Imperial City."


	8. Chapter 3 Part 1

**3**

"On your feet trooper! I won't have the daedra catch us with our pants down."

Captain Matius paced up and down the line of tired and injured soldiers. The Kvatch guardsmen immediately snapped to attention and set about their duties. The volunteers were not so eager to please, looking to Dorian for guidance.

"Let's get this wall finished. We may not have much time."

The young Corporal spoke in a calm tone and much to his surprise, the volunteers obeyed. The defenders set about gathering rubble, splintered wood, even the bodies of the Xivali dead were used to bolster a new single protective wall. After fifteen minutes of construction, Dorian was growing anxious that a second wave of daedra would appear before his troopers had time to rest. He knew it made no difference because the defenders were too few to make a stand against another attack. All hope to close the fiery Daedric portal now rested with one man.

"I sent five of my best men inside. If they're still alive, link up with them and close the gate. I'm not sure how you'll get back out, but if you survive we will be waiting here for you." Captain Matius handed the homely-looking Breton a blood-stained longsword then ordered all the surviving defenders behind the safety of their wall.

Dorian remained with Connor outside the perimeter. The Corporal took it upon himself to at least escort the brave soldier to the gateway. He looked to his left and right, waiting for the signal from Sergeant Kiernan that the archers and mages were in place to provide them cover for the thirty-yard dash across open terrain to the entrance of the portal. Several minutes passed and the signal was not given.

"No! We need you here to man the lines. I can't sacrifice any more defenders for a _suicide mission_." Captain Matius could be heard arguing from behind the wall.

Dorian and Connor exchanged worried glances hearing this pessimistic comment.

"I'm sorry sir!" Captain Matius quickly apologized. "They're just outside, waiting for my order to proceed."

Now Dorian and Connor were confused. Captain Matius led three warriors out from behind the wall, scurrying ahead of them much like a house-servant clearing the way for his master. Dorian recognized the fiery red-haired warrior alongside the tattooed Bosmer and her skilled Cyrod colleague.

"I am Marcus. These are my companions, _Carandol _and _Rabi'ah._ We're with the _Blades_."

The introduction seemed to be directed towards Connor. Dorian gave his name first, then Connor.

"You two are very brave for volunteering to enter that Oblivion Gate." Rabi'ah, the tattooed Bosmer complimented.

Dorian's heart dropped. While it was a perfectly obvious observation, Dorian did not consider until that moment that the portal could _actually__ transport _someone to Oblivion. What was worse is that this Blade seemed to think he was joining Connor on his sojourn.

"We're here to escort you through Oblivion and help you close this gate. Are you ready?"

Dorian was speechless, too embarrassed to decline the proposal but too frightened to make his feet move.

"How do I know you're really from the Blades?" Connor asked provocatively. "You're not wearing _Blades _armour and that's not a _Blades' _sword either."

"Met many of us in your travels, have you?" Carandol, the red-haired warrior, asked.

"As a matter of fact yes I have." Connor retorted.

Carandol paused before speaking. "_Baurus_ sent me. He told me I might find you here."

Connor was quiet.

"I'm ready. Let's get this over with."

* * *

Dorian could not see Connor underneath a helmet that shielded most of his face, but knew he had to be feeling some sort of apprehension. After all, _he_ was a Corporal in his Majesty's mighty Legions and Connor was just a civilian. _Who am I kidding?_ Dorian thought._ This is the bravest man I have met outside the Legions. _The Corporal was humbled by the volunteer's courage.

Sergeant Kiernan offered the young man his silver broadswordand exchanged his sackcloth and rusty iron greaves for steel and chainmail pieces. Draped over his torso was a white tunic emblazoned with the symbol of Kvatch, the Black Wolf. Dorian could see that Connor was not accustomed to wearing cumbersome heavy plate armour. He awkwardly fiddled with the strappings and paced nervously about trying to determine the range of motion in his joints.

"Here we go." Rabi'ah motioned towards the Oblivion gate.

Connor and Dorian followed the Blades without a word. The defenders upon the wall cheered their brave comrades. Dorian's heart raced and his stomach twisted itself into knots. Somehow the Corporal managed to get his feet moving, one drudging step in front of the next. The scorching heat of the fire made him sweat and all he wanted to do was puke. He tried to imagine any possible excuse, praying that his legs might suddenly break and he would not have to enter that Oblivion Gate.

The Blades drew their weapons and lined up shoulder to shoulder before the gateway. The young Legionnaire hoped that his own body language had not betrayed the fear stewing inside him. _I'm an Auxiliary, not a combat warrior! I deal with drunks and druggies, not Daedra! Zenithar preserve me! No! I am a Legionnaire, a defender of the Empire._ _I can do this. _Dorian dropped to his knees and vomited.

"Ha! That's promising!"

Connor and the Blades laughed while Dorian spewed the contents of his stomach upon the battlefield. When he was finished, the Corporal came to his feet shameful and embarrassed.

"Boy I tell ya' that is a perfect way to start this mission." Rabi'ah chuckled. "I feel much better."

"I'll have to be careful not to step in it when we get back." Carandol added.

"_When_ we get back? Didn't you hear the Captain? _We're going to die!" _Dorian exclaimed.

"You've never been to _Oblivion_. Maybe it's nice?" Connor suggested.

"No one has ever been to Oblivion and returned!"

"Really? The last time I went, I came back just fine." Carandol smiled. "Watch out for the Spiddal Sticks. _They're real nasty._"


	9. Chapter 3 Part 2

The gateway had the consistency of water and Dorian was surprised with how he passed through it with such ease. He slowly opened his eyes half expecting to find himself surrounded by thousands of beasts and monsters eager to tear away his flesh. At first he thought he was still in Kvatch. The scorched sky and blackened charred ground beneath his feet still remained, however the city walls were gone and in its place were hulking towers of stone and lakes of boiling hot magma. Dorian squinted. His eyes struggled to adjust to the red hued environment.

"Stand ready." Carandol patted Dorian reassuringly on the shoulder.

Dorian tightened the grip on his sword and took a step forward. He nearly gasped aloud when he noticed that lining the entrance from the gatewaywere human heads impaled upon spears protruding from the ground. The faces cried out in silent horror. Dorian could not imagine the amount of pain these unfortunate souls must've endured as they were slaughtered by the daedra. It made him sick to his stomach and filled his heart with rage.

"I think that's where we need to go."

Rabi'ah was pointing to the largest tower in sight. Spikes protruded from either side of the tower like the pincers of a beetle. Two bridges connected the largest tower to two smaller towers of similar appearance. The _keep_ of the largest tower was illuminated by a bright yellow glow. Destroyed bridges simmering in pools of magma and fallen stone gateways obstructed the approach. Only one bridge provided a safe advance but a large metal gate blocked the way.

"What's the plan?" Connor asked.

"Marcus and I will stay here and make sure nothing else gets through this gateway." Rabi'ah instructed. "Carandol, you take the Corporal and Connor and check out those towers."

"Don't you think we should go back for reinforcements?" Marcus suggested.

"We can take care of this, right Corporal?"

"Right." Dorian answered trying to sound confident.

Carandol nodded his head in approval.

"Let's move out."

* * *

_I don't know how I did it but I continued on. For someone who spent nearly his entire life in a small village in High Rock, leaving Nirn was a new and scary experience! The priests of the Chapel had not exaggerated in their descriptions of the horrors of Oblivion. Mutilated bodies, decapitated and set ablaze, dangled from overhangs as warning to anyone foolish enough to trespass. We were ambushed several times in our approach to the Sigil Keep. We didn't have any of the information that we have now and I viewed our mission as setting out to do the impossible. How could three people hope to survive in a realm of mayhem, chaos and death? If the Blades didn't know what they were doing they certainly did an excellent job at hiding it._

_Carandol was very brave and I am confident that without his help we would've failed. We were ambushed almost immediately after leaving the entranceway. Carandol was deadly accurate with his bow and killed a great number of daedra before they even had a chance to get near us. At first meeting, I was not impressed with Connor and did not expect much of him as a warrior, but he was a powerful swordsman and could cut through the Xivilai like he was slicing air. I managed to hold my own against the lesser demons like the clannfears and scamps. We fought our way through Oblivion, dodging ambush parties, wild plants, and rockslides. The daedra near the tower were clad in heavy armour and armed with arrows and swords but were significantly less powerful than their Xivilai counterparts. These were the Dremora, more human in appearance than any other breed of daedroth, they comprised the bulk of the daedric armies. We fought off an entire platoon by the entrance to the largest tower before entering inside._

__

_

* * *

_

Dorian dodged a blade thrust at his chest then counterattacked with a series of reckless overhead blows, forcing the Dremora to the ground. His enemy grimaced, grinding his teeth in anger. The Corporal kicked the daedra flat on its back then stomped on its face numerous times until he could feel the bones crunching beneath him. Connor had to pull the battle-crazed Breton away.

"I think he's dead."

Dorian stood back and admired his work. The Dremora's horns were bent inwards, puncturing into its own eye cavities.

"Not bad." Carandol complimented. "Is anyone injured?"

Connor and Dorian took turns inspecting each other for wounds.

"I'm ready to go!" Dorian exclaimed.

"Good. My guess is that whatever makes these gates open and close can be found at the top of this tower. We don't have much time so we're going to move as fast as we can. If we get separated we will meet at the top. Understand?"

Dorian nodded.

Carandol had barely pushed open the stone doors of the tower and Dorian was already through. A lone Dremora sentry stood inside by the entrance. Dorian may have been inexperienced, but standing at nearly six feet and three inches in height, the Breton farmer impacted with the Dremora like a heavy stone breaking the surface of a pond. The daedra flew backwards into a nearby fountain and cracked its skull on the stone rim. Connor joined Dorian in clearing the main lobby while Carandol provided covering fire from the doorway.

The main lobby of the tower encircled a large flame that shot upwards to the keep. Carandol and Dorian moved in opposite directions, fighting Atronachs, Dremoras and Xivilai. The daedra were overwhelmed, surprised the soldiers of Kvatch had brought the battle to their doorstep. When the fighting was over, Dorian vomited again, this time from exhaustion. His hand quivered with adrenaline. He reached back and retrieved the water bottle fastened around his belt and poured some water onto his neck.

"_Jiles! _Look out!"

Dorian stood to see who Carandol was calling to. An entire platoon of Dremora soldiers was pouring in from the entrance to the tower. Connor barely escaped from being swarmed. Dorian dropped his water bottle and ran for a nearby doorway.

"Get to the keep! We'll meet you there!" Carandol called out.

Dorian was hesitant to leave his companions but was more than confident they could hold their own against the enemy. He turned away and entered the dark corridor.


	10. Chapter 3 Part 3

_I did just what Carandol had instructed and ran for my life. I ran for the lives of all the people guarding the entrance to that portal, the only defense holding back the untamed forces of Oblivion from descending upon the citizens of Tamriel. I had not a clue where I was going. I just knew I needed to go up. The inner corridors of the tower were less guarded than the exterior. I ran for what seemed like an eternity, avoiding diabolical traps and stomaching the sickening images of hanged bodies and mutilated corpses._

Dorian tried to control his beating heart as he came to a crouch at the top of another ramp. He could see three Xivilai in the room in front of him. If Dorian didn't know the daedra to be godless heathens that worshipped only malice and greed, he could've sworn they were _praying. _They prostrated themselves before a great pillar decorated with markings and symbols painted in blood.

The Corporal could see that a doorway located on the opposite side of the room would allow him to sneak past. Dorian carefully moved along the walls, keeping to the shadows. His body was starved for oxygen and his throbbing heart beat erratically in his ears. The Xivilai humbled themselves before their pillar and every time they lowered their gaze to the floor he moved a few extra inches. Soon he was standing by the doorway, carefully pushing the door apart like opening the locked jaws of a dog. The hot, dry air of Oblivion rushed in and scorched his face causing him to retract and stumble backwards.

The Xivilai heard the disturbance and turned to investigate. With all of his might, the Corporal forced the door open and ducked outside. He narrowly avoided falling hundreds of feet to his death, managing to quickly balance himself on the narrow footbridge connecting the larger tower to the smaller one. With the Xivilai behind him, Dorian traversed the bridge with haste knowing that he was easy pickings for a spell shot or arrow fire from behind. The Breton allowed himself to collapse onto the smaller tower's doorway, thankful he had not fallen or been killed. Though it seemed the Xivilai were not chasing him, he hurriedly fumbled with the door's unlocking mechanism and entered inside.

Blood curdling screams made Dorian's heart jump up into his throat. Just a few feet above him, the Corporal could see a Dremora poking and prodding a sharp blade into a cage. In the cage was a wounded member of the Kvatch city guard, begging to be rescued. Until Dorian could make it to the top of the narrow tower, he was in a disadvantageous position. When the man cried out in pain again, Dorian dashed up the spiraling ramp knowing that the Dremora was preoccupied with torturing his prisoner. The Corporal pierced his steel blade through the back of the daedra's neck and pushed aside his limp metallic covered body to the floor.

"By the Nine! Thank you! Thank you for saving me!" The prisoner exclaimed, overwhelmed with joy.

"Let's get you out of here. Is there anyone else alive?"

"No! There's no time! Listen to me, you must get to the large tower, the Sigil Keep is what they call it. That's what keeps their gateways open!"

"What do I do?"

"Take the _Sigil Stone _and the gates will close. Get the key, _the Keeper _has it." The prisoner pointed to the dead Dremora lying motionless in a pool of dark-crimson blood.

Dorian searched the cold body, finding an unusual key tied around the Keeper's neck.

"Good! That's it!"

"How do I open this cage?"

"Forget about me and get out of here. Remember, anyone not touching the Sigil Stone when you remove it will be stuck here."

"What? I'm not leaving you then! You can't stay here."

Despite the protests from the imprisoned guard, Dorian paced around the room looking for some sort of release device to unlock the cage. When no device could be found Dorian turned to examining the cage itself, finding a simple latch that when pulled, released the door. The guard could barely walk. Both of his legs had been cut deeply several times. Dorian carried the wounded man on his back. His muscles were burning but his mind was strong. There was no way he would leave anyone in such a dreadful place.

"We have to go across a bridge now. Hang on and don't shift your weight!" Dorian ordered.

"You are a fool! Leave me behind _please!_" The man begged.

Dorian ignored the request and pushed open the stone door, careful not to stumble over the ledge. The Breton had never liked heights. Once when he was twelve years of age he was stuck in a tree branch only two feet off the ground. Little Dorian Archimbaud refused to budge until his father brought a stepladder to carry him down, even as the village boys and girls taunted him. He now guessed he was a few hundred feet high, well out of the reach of any stepladder.

"Dorian! Dorian!"

The Corporal could not break his concentration to see who was calling him, although the answer was obvious. When he was safely across the bridge, Carandol and Connor helped Dorian with his burden.

"They're preparing another attack on Kvatch. A whole damn cohort of Dremora is marching for the gate right now."

"Connor and Rabi'ah are already through the gate. Who's this?" Connor asked.

"I'm Menien Goneld." The man introduced himself.

"I couldn't leave him." Dorian explained.

"Hurry, to the Sigil Keep! Up these flights of stairs, take the portal and it's to the left." Menien informed.

The three soldiers were bewildered as to how this wounded prisoner was familiar with the layout of the tower. It was a question best saved for later. Carandol helped Menien back onto the Corporal's back and led the way to the Sigil Keep.


	11. Chapter 3 Part 4

"Claire, my necklace if you please."

The young Breton girl removed the jewelry from around her neck and handed it to her grandfather.

"You see here." Dorian was pointing to small black fragment encased in a glass pendant. "This is a piece of the Sigil Stone we recovered after closing the gate at Kvatch. Carandol gave it to me. I've worn it as sort of a _good luck charm _ever since. It has always managed to keep me in good health as it has with my precious Claire."

"So you all closed the gate together?"

"We did. We fought our way to the _Sigil Keep _and made it safely back to Nirn by removing the Sigil Stone. You can imagine I had quite a few stories to write to my family back home after that!"

"Did you ever see Carandol or any of the others again?"

"I saw Connor several more times of course, with him being the _Hero of Kvatch _and all."

"But you helped close the gate too. Weren't you mad when he accepted all the credit?"

Dorian shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He motioned for Claire to remove the cold tea and half-eaten sweet rounds from off of his lap.

"My boy, the Crisis was a difficult time for all of us. It challenged our faith, the Empire and our resolve. With the Emperor and his sons dead we had no one to look up to, no one to comfort us and inspire hope. Connor _was_ a hero whether he guarded the gateway or captured the Sigil Keep. His actions were selfless and brave, the same as any other volunteer. I was a Legion soldier and what I did was not heroic, it was my duty. The _real_ heroes are those who made the ultimate sacrifice for Tamriel; my friends who cannot join us in tea and sweet rounds today but are instead buried on distant battlefields and in shallow graves. You remember that when you write your book Sean, because on that _night of tears _not just one hero was born, but thousands."


	12. Chapter 4 Part 1

**4 **

**29 Last Seed 3E433, Anvil**

Roe listened to the water from the Abecean slowly lap against the wooden pylons of the Anvil Docklands. A flock of seagulls with their wings extended outwards allowed the wind to carry them like kites. Chainmail boots dragged across the stone walkways lining the pier. The refugees from Kvatch were silent, awestruck by the events of the preceding night. Parents quietly grieved over the bodies of their dead children covered underneath blankets. Orphaned boys and girls tugged at the red flannel tunics of the Anvil city guardsmen asking for their missing mothers and fathers. Soldiers and injured volunteers patted one another on the back, happy they had survived the battle. Shopkeepers fought back frustration realizing their livelihoods were now gone, burned to the ground in a single night. The refugees could muster no more emotion. Their tears had run dry. Some shook uncontrollably in shock, others remained in fragile states, set off into panic attacks by the friendliest extension of a helping hand.

Roe had experienced much trauma in his lifetime. The earliest days of his capture to slave traders in High Rock still brought back painful memories and bouts of deep depression. On the night of his capture, the slavers beat him to within an inch of his life. Sometimes he wished they had killed him right there, to spare him the years of torture that would follow. Two other children, a younger Breton girl and a Nord male two years his senior, were also in captivity. He knew them as _Poj _and _Tös_, Aldmeri for _boy _and _girl._Neither Roe nor Poj could speak Cyrodiilic so all orders from the captors were accompanied by harsh blows, much like the way a person trained a dog not to soil itself in the house. Tös could understand the language and looked after the boys. As a result of her selfless actions she incurred the worst beatings. Roe did his best to incite rebellion, to inspire Poj and Tös to help him escape. No such attempts would be made. Their will was diminished and all traces of hope gone. He remembered thinking he would never allow himself to become so pitiful. He was a son of the Reach, a _Reachman_. To surrender meant death and to abandon hope was to resolve oneself to become the _prey. _

The first three weeks in captivity were spent hiking out of the Western Reach into the city of Evermor. Roe held onto hope that the _Gravia _would intervene and come free him; that they were testing Roe to see if he would surrender. He was only a teenager at the time. The frigid mountains and high plains of his home were all he knew. Staring out from behind the bars of his transport wagon, Roe felt fear when the _Reach_ disappeared behind the horizon. The slavers paraded the _Little Beastboy _around like a traveling circus attraction. The Bretons gawked, pointed and laughed at Roe's hairy naked body. A Breton nobleman asked if the rumours were true that Reachmen could regenerate body parts. For 400 gold pieces, the nobleman found out that the rumour was false. He remembered the Breton holding Roe's severed ear in his hand, waving it like a trophy.

From Evermor they continued touring throughout High Rock. In Sharnhelm, a Breton boy wanted to see what Reachman genitals looked like. The slavers stripped Roe bare. Children laughed. In Camlorn, Poj bit the arm of one of the slavers. Tös tried to intervene and in the course of protecting Poj, she was struck on the head so hard that her neck broke. The slavers left her body in the wilderness to be devoured by wolves. Poj was sold off in Camlorn and Roe was alone. The slavers continued their tour into Wayrest and Orsinium. The Orc inhabitants didn't appreciate the way the slavers were treating their Reachman brother. Some Orcs offered to purchase his freedom. The slavers were reluctant to part with their most prized possession.

On the night they were to leave Orsinium, some Orc children tried to free Roe. They managed to unshackle his irons and were picking the lock to the cage when the slavers caught wind of the escape attempt and drove the children away. Roe could remember the sorrowful, apologetic look of one of the Orc girls. When she disappeared from his gaze, Roe's will was broken. He could no longer muster the energy to fight back. He existed only to wallow in his shame, harboring hatred for his Breton captors and their entire race. After one full year of confinement in an animal's cage, "indentured service" to a Daggerfall noblewoman was a welcome change. Here he regained his resolve. Physically he was in no condition to escape, but the nature of his work permitted him to be alone in the castle stables for several hours a day. Every afternoon while the Mistress was conducting business in town, Roe rekindled his distaste for physical fitness. He performed calisthenics with heavy pails of water to strengthen his body and mind, imagining the Gravia were there yelling in his native tongue that he was a "g_ood for nothing icicle-sucker"_. The day would come when he would make his escape. He was not broken.

Roe refused to see the tear-streamed faces of the survivors; to watch from miles away as the fires smoldered and died leaving Kvatch a charred, hollowed out carcass. He stared out to sea, away from the makeshift refugee camp established on the Docklands. Small military-issued tents provided meager accommodations for the few Kvatch survivors. Soldiers of the 2nd Auxiliary handed out rations of food and fresh water and healers from the Mages Guild administered basic healing spells to victims. Local shopkeepers and ships crews offered what items they could to help the refugees, even allowing the decks of their ships to be used to quarter the displaced civilians. Countess Millona Umbranox was out in her morning attire receiving an update from Sergeant Kiernan and his superior Major Ferguson, commanding officer of the 2nd Auxiliary. The brave Legionnaire who volunteered to accompany the Ansei into _Oblivion_, Corporal Archimbaud, was getting medical treatment for a few minor cuts and bruises. Roe and Dorian exchanged somber head nods as he made his way towards a small encirclement of tents near the Harbor Gate.

Sitting in the shade of a large tree, Zidvyda remained in a catatonic state; his eyes locked in a mile long stare into nothingness. White bandages wrapped around portions of his upper arm were soaked purple with dried blood that contrasted against his dark green skin. His clothing was shredded and the soles of his boots were scorched by fire and melted away. His hair, normally slicked back and tied in a braided ponytail, was frayed and uneven. Ayisha knelt beside her _kibut _brother and embraced him lovingly.

"Zidvyda. I need to change your bandages."

The Dunmer did not reply. Roe wanted to say something comforting, to find a special word or phrase that would take Zid's pain away and make everything better. He remained silent.

"Roe."

"Yes, brother."

"_I'm sorry._"

His brother's words returned him to the docks of Archon, to the same apologies Roe made to Dayan for the loss of Amir, Elgamil and Mogakh. Roe put his hand on the Dunmer's shoulder. Zidvyda broke into tears and threw himself upon Khochi and Master Zair, lying motionless beneath their cloth blankets. Ayisha rushed to Zid's side and pulled him away from the bodies. Roe quickly wiped away his own tears. The salty liquid streamed down his face and onto his lips.

"I managed to find us a wagon and some horses." Jiles informed. "We can be back to the Temple by _Morndas_ if we leave tonight."

"We're not going home yet."

"What do you mean?"

"We must finish what we started. Master Zair would've wanted us to –"

Jiles spun Roe around to face him. His dark green eyes flared with frustration.

"_Zair_ is dead." He said sternly. "_Khochi_ is dead. There is nothing more we can do here. We need to go home! Do you understand?"

"I understand we came to do a job."

"_Gods-dammit _Roe we're not _mercenaries_! We're not the Riders."

"He's right." Ayisha joined in the conversation. "The _Hall Council_ is going to want a report. Let's just get back home and see what they have to say."

Roe and Ayisha immediately ceased their arguments as Corporal Dorian approached.

"I'm sorry Carandol, Marcus. I didn't mean to interrupt. I wanted to say…" The young Breton cleared his throat. His voice cracked. "I'm sorry about your friends."

Roe, Ayisha and Jiles all thanked the Breton.

"What were their names?"

Roe knelt beside the body of his master. He pulled back the blanket covering Zair and examined his burned and bruised face. Roe ran his fingers over the charred skin almost as if he were caressing a loved one as they slept. His sister Khochi lay just beside Zair, a large gash in her chest from where the daedra stabbed her either to finish her off or check to see if she was dead.

"Their names were Zair and Khochi. Zair was my Master and Khochi our sister."

Ayisha and Jiles exchanged worried glances, hoping Roe would not blow their cover.

"I shall pray for them." Dorian informed.

"They were _nomads, _desert-folk. They do not worship the same gods as you _Breton._" Ayisha snapped.

"The Divines care not from which corner of Nirn we hail nor whether I am called Breton, Redguard or Khajiit_. _They watch over us all and protect us."

"How can you still believe that after what has happened? Why would your _Divines _allow this?" Ayisha asked with great surprise.

Though the Ansei made their home in a temple dedicated to a Yokudandivinity, religious freedom was encouraged. History conjectured that it was a faith in the old gods of Yokuda that gave the Ansei there power. Faith was among the strongest of feelings that loaned its power to the manifestation of a spirit sword, but it was not the sole source.

Dorian smiled and bowed his head.

"Who am I to understand what the gods have in store for us? It is not my place and I do not seek out the answer. I _trust _in my Lord _Zenithar_ and all the Divines. If they will not intervene directly, they will send those to stand against evil in their stead. I was at Kvatch for that reason, just as you were."

At that moment, Zidvyda broke from his comatose condition and lashed out at the young Legionnaire.

"And _they!_" The Dunmer cried pointing to the bodies lying underneath thick cowhide sheets. "What of _my sister? _My _father?_ Were they at _Kvatch _to die? Was that part of the _almighty Divines'_ plan?"

"I cannot say."

"_How convenient_." Zidvyda collapsed from exhaustion beneath the tree.

"Was it the purpose of every soul who perished at Kvatch to die in their homes? To be murdered and tortured by those _foul beasts? _What of the brave men and women that fought alongside us? Was it fate that they should meet such a horrible, bloody end? The Chapel teaches us not to concern ourselves with these questions. Instead we offer _thanks_ for the blessings we _are_ given. I am thankful you were there for us Carandol. With soldiers like you, and you Marcus and Rabi'ah, I know we'll get through this. If you should ever need me, I will be here in Anvil with my unit. May the _Nine Divines_ guide and protect you."

Dorian bowed and quietly rejoined his Sergeant across the docks. Roe turned to his brothers and sister and gave them a questioning look. No further convincing would be necessary.

"Zidvyda will escort Khochi and Master Zair home to the Temple and make a full report of what has happened here." Roe ordered as if he were Dayan preparing the Riders for another mission. "You all can join him if you like but I don't expect the Council will allow you to return to help me."

"We could be banished for this." Ayisha warned.

"I've made my choice."

"Where do we start? Someone has to know _something _about the attack."

Roe raised his hand and pointed to the grimy ash covered Breton sitting at the opposite end of the dock.

"We start with him."


	13. Chapter 4 Part 2

_I returned to the Temple with Khochi and Master Zair and they were buried according to their own traditions. It took some convincing and a bit of luck but I was able to steal away from the Temple and in four weeks I was back in Cyrodiil eager to reunite with my sisters and brother. _

__

_

* * *

_

**29 Hearthfire 3E433**

"Will you please tell me your name?"

"I cannot."

"If you would just tell me your –"

"_I cannot say._" He repeated. "Please go tell _Roe_ that his _brother_ is here."

"Roe? Don't know anyone by that name."

"I am sorry, I meant to say _Carandol_. I am here to see Carandol, Rabi'ah and Marcus."

The Blade sentry's eyes narrowed in skepticism. Zidvyda was eager to see his brothers after so long a separation. He was also nervous, ashamed with the weakness he had shown after the attack on Kvatch. Zidvyda cupped his hands and exhaled into them. His warm breath gave him only a temporary reprieve from the nipping cold air.

"I don't know any of them either. Please leave or I will take you into custody." The Blade threatened, retreating back behind the wooden doors of Cloud Ruler Temple.

The young Ansei placed a gentle hand on the Blade's shoulder. Amazingly the blue and gold clad warrior did not perceive this as a threat.

"Please go speak with them. I am Zidvyda from the _Temple of Rihad._" The Dunmer smiled warmly.

"Wait here."

The Blade sentry disappeared behind the door. Zid's heartbeat increased causing him to nervously twitch and fiddle with the lowermost button on his overcoat. _I deserve to fall from their favour after the way I acted. Just accept it. They will tell me they don't need my help and I should return to the Temple. I would if Master Surro hadn't already threatened to banish me if I tried to rejoin Roe and the others. That feather sack tucked underneath my covers won't fool them for very long. What a fool I have been! They are going to come down those stairs and stand their looking at me with hateful eyes. _

"Zidvyda!" Ayisha cried aloud.

The tiny Khajiit soared through the air, latching onto the Dunmer tightly with her legs and arms. The Dunmer stumbled backwards trying not to lose his balance. The two Ansei fell in laughter rolling merrily around in the snow. The Blades watched from up on the high wall smiling like parents admiring their children. Ayisha sprung to her feet and ushered the surprised Dunmer inside the confines of Cloud Ruler Temple.

"We are so happy you have come back brother!" Ayisha exclaimed. "How are things at the Temple? What did they say?"

"I think it's something you should _all _hear." Zidvyda insisted still short of breath.

Waiting for him at the top of the Temple steps was Zid's blonde-headed brother standing nonchalantly with his arms folded on his chest. The young warrior extended his hand. Zidvyda returned the gesture firmly grasping hold of Jiles' wrist. He pulled his brother towards him and embraced the Dunmer warmly.

"Welcome back." Jiles greeted.

"Thank you. Where is Roe?"

"He is out conducting some _business._ Come with me, there is much to talk about."

Jiles led the way into the main building, past several Blade sentries that greeted the entourage of foreigners kindly. A roaring fireplace at the opposite end of the room brightly illuminated the central hall of the Blades. Seated at a desk piled high with scrolls and other miscellaneous documents was a young man cloaked in gray priestly robes, his face buried in the texts of a book.

"Is that him? _Our Black Wolf?_" Zid alluded to the vision that brought them to Cyrodiil.

Ayisha nodded. "This is Martin Septim, last surviving son of Uriel Septim and heir to the throne of Tamriel."

"_You?_" Zidvyda exclaimed.

"Yes, I remember you as well from that night in Kvatch." The priest spoke softly. "I heard what happened to your Master, Zair. I am glad he was able to have you to escort him home to your Temple for a proper burial."

Zidvyda looked at Jiles and Ayisha, surprised by what secrets they had shared with the priest.

"Uh, thank you _highness_."

"Please don't call me that." Martin dejected the honorific term. "I still am in disbelief about all this."

"_But sooner or later you must face your destiny and lead our armies to victory as Emperor._" An elderly voice interrupted from across the room.

A Breton dressed in ornate blue and gold armour joined the conversation.

"Zid, allow me to introduce Grandmaster Jauffre, commander of the Blades."

Jauffre nodded in greeting.

"This is who you were expecting from Hammerfell?" Jauffre asked of Jiles.

"Yes. He brings word of reinforcements or maybe _the lack thereof._ Care to enlighten us?" Jiles begged of the Dunmer.

Jauffre motioned for everyone to seat themselves around a long wooden table.

"Will Roe be returning soon? He needs to hear what I have to say." Zid asked again.

"Roe and Connor are following up our investigation into the identity of these assassins."

"Who is Connor?" The Dunmer asked.

"The _Hero of Kvatch_." Jiles answered with a smirk. "At least that's what the world thinks, _thanks to me_."

"It was necessary for you to change places with him Jiles. We aren't supposed to be here. Connor has proven himself a capable asset to the team since Kvatch." Ayisha spoke up. "He went through that _gateway _with the rest of us but he is not a trained fighter. That's why he is out right now getting the experience he needs."

"All I'm saying is it would be nice to be recognized once in a while for the hard work I do." Jiles argued.

"Remember your training, Jiles." Zid warned. "Subtly is our watchword."

"As it is ours." Grandmaster Jauffre added. "Cloud Ruler Temple is a secure fortress but we have no idea what power or numbers our enemy possesses. We must keep Martin's existence a secret while we plan our next move_._"

"I don't understand. Who are we fighting against?"

"The Prince of Destruction - _Mehrunes Dagon_, one of the sixteen Daedric Princes of the demonic world of Oblivion."

"It was Dagon's blood thirst that brought ruin to the city of Mournhold in the First Era. My _Lord Vivec_ and his companions banished the _Blood Prince_ back to Oblivion." Zidvyda boasted.

"Now it falls upon us to find a way to defeat Mehrunes Dagon."

"How can we do that? _Kill a Daedra_?"

"I believe I can answer that."

Martin Septim rose from his chair. All eyes turned to the young priest who carried himself with the confidence of a timid schoolchild standing before a room full of his classmates. Nevertheless, Martin cleared his throat and straightened out the wrinkles in his long gray robes.

"As mortals we are not capable of defeating the Daedra in the literal sense. Daedra have existed since the _Dawn Era, _before time was time – the antithesis of the _Aedra_, our Divines."

Martin quickly dashed away from the table and returned bearing a knife and a shiny red apple. Martin sliced the apple down its center and held up one half for the room to see.

"This apple represents _Mundus_, the universe which we occupy. The core is our world of _Nirn._" Martin took the cutting knife and stabbed it through the skin of the apple to the core. "Just as this knife can pierce through the layers of the apple, so can a Daedra or Aedra pierce through the realms. Aetherius, the skin of the apple as it were, is the realm of the Aedra, our Divine Spirits. The juicy part of the apple surrounding the core represents _Oblivion_ – realm of the Daedra. The Daedra are the essence of _Change, _constantly seeking to unbalance the realms. The Divines keep the mischievous Daedra from passing through into our realm."

"How do they do that exactly?"

Martin scurried away again and returned with his finger stuck between the pages of a red canvas bound book.

_In the first years of the First Era, a powerful race of Elves called the Ayleids ruled Tamriel…_

Martin read aloud from the book.

…_on behalf of the suffering human races, Saint Alessia sought the aid of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, and ruler of the noble Aedra. Akatosh, looking with pity upon the plight of men, drew precious blood from his own heart, and blessed Saint Alessia with this blood of Dragons, and made a Covenant that so long as Alessia's generations were true to the dragon blood, Akatosh would endeavor to seal tight the Gates of Oblivion…_

"This same _Dragonblood_ flows through your veins, Martin." Jauffre continued. "The Blades safeguarded your predecessors, the _Dragonborn, _with their lives and so the magical barriers between Nirn and Oblivion remained closed. Now that we have failed to protect our Emperor and his kin, we face invasion."

The Blades bowed their heads in silent shame.

"We won't fail you Emperor Martin Septim!" One of the brave knights cried.

A resounding cheer echoed in the Halls. Martin begged for silence. Zidvyda could tell that the prospect of being Emperor made him more than uncomfortable.

"Please, I am not Emperor yet." The young priest cautioned.

"_You are Uriel Septim's son! Our Emperor!_"

"No, no you don't understand." Martin countered. "Even if I were the Emperor's son, the _Covenant_ between Saint Alessia and the Divine Akatosh is maintained through a _ritual_. Until I perform this ritual, the Covenant remains unfulfilled."

"What ritual do you speak of?"

"_Lighting the Dragonfires_." Jauffre answered. "After an Emperor is crowned, he lights the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. When an Emperor dies, his successor lights them anew upon ascending to the throne. With Emperor Uriel dead and no successor crowned, the Temple of the One will be dark for the first time in centuries."

"The Covenant is broken and Mehrunes Dagon and his daedra are free to pass into our realm through these _Oblivion Gates_." Martin continued.

"How does an Emperor relight the Dragonfires?" Zidvyda asked.

Martin read from the book once more.

_In token of this Covenant, Akatosh gave to Alessia and her descendants the Amulet of Kings and the Eternal Dragonfires of the Imperial City. The gem is the Red Diamond in the middle of the Amulet. This is the Symbol of the Empire and later taken as the symbol of the Septim line. It is surrounded by eight other gems, one for each of the Divines._

"The gemis of Ayleid origin. Enshrined within are the souls of Tamriel's past emperors. An Emperor uses this ancient relic to relight the Dragonfires."

"Well then all we need to do is safely escort Martin and the Amulet to the Imperial City and seal the barriers to Oblivion." Zidvyda deduced. "My companions and I are very capable of this and with your help I know we can succeed."

There was a murmur of whispers among the Blades assembled in the hall. An exchange of worried glances between those seated around the table.

"It won't be that simple." Jauffre cautioned.

"Why? What happened? What's wrong?"


	14. Chapter 4 Part 3

**Four weeks and two days earlier**

"May I trouble you for some water _Rabi'ah?_"

The request from the young priest were the first words he spoke since the troupe left the refugee camp in Anvil two days earlier. News of Kvatch spread throughout the cities of the Empire. Rumours whispered in taverns and roadside villages spoke of fiery portals to Oblivion opening up in provinces across the Empire from High Rock to Argonia. Oddly, the woods of northeastern Cyrodiil remained quiet and undisturbed.

"Have some bread too Martin, I don't think you've eaten since last night." Ayisha handed her bladder of water and a piece of fluffy potato breadto the priest.

Martin accepted the meal with a smile. He humbly nibbled the bread but gulped down the water nearly emptying it.

"Aren't you supposed to _pray _or something before you eat?" Jiles asked.

"I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now." He answered.

"But you're a priest right?"

"What good is a priest?"

"People will look to you for answers."

"If all this is part of some divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it."

"And yet here you are - the _center of attention_."

This crass remark came from Connor, an escaped prisoner whom the late Uriel Septim had entrusted to deliver a special message to the Grandmaster of the Blades. Connor spoke freely with the Ansei believing them to be members of the Emperor's elite corps of bodyguards, telling them of his escape from the Imperial Prison and the brief visit he made with Brother Jauffre of Weynon Priory in Chorrol. Under Jauffre's instruction, Connor traveled to Kvatch to find and bring back to the Priory, Brother Martin of the Chapel of Akatosh, fourth son of the Emperor and rightful successor to the throne of Tamriel.

"I have entertained you thus far, but I am no son of the Emperor.' Martin insisted. "My father was a farmer, my mother passed on when I was very young."

"I'll be honest mate. I am a con artist and a thief. That's why I ended up in prison after all." Connor chuckled. "To succeed in what I do, I _stretch the truth_…a lot. However I assure you I am telling no lie."

"_Really?_ How many times a week do you tell that _bullshit_ story?" Jiles challenged.

"I am serious, you'll see. The Priory House is just over the next hill." Connor pointed, the steeple of Weynon Chapel already in view.

The sun was rising, the sky a collage of blue, yellow and orange hues. Shiny red apples contrasted with the leaves of the unnaturally bright green trees. Roe was walking out in front, on guard and alert though the journey thus far had been uneventful. Martin and Connor followed several feet behind with Jiles and Ayisha spaced between them for security. Each held the reins of their horses in hand, allowing time for their steeds to rest after hours of hard riding. Gathered by a well outside the entrance to the Priory House were seven to eight visitors, perhaps a family or small community seeking guidance of the priests inside. Roe motioned for Martin and Connor to remain behind with Jiles. He and Ayisha would go find Jauffre.

"Is there something I can help you with?" A friendly Nord greeted the two Ansei.

"Is Brother Jauffre here?"

"No, I am sorry. He's busy at the moment praying in the chapel. He specifically expressed that he doesn't want to be disturbed."

"Then what are all these other people –"

"Jauffre is very busy. Come back later and he can help you then." The Nord repeated.

Before Roe or Ayisha could insist further on the importance of speaking with Jauffre, a Dunmer dressed in blacksmith's robes came rushing out from the stables.

"Help! _They're trying to kill me!_" He shouted.

The folks gathered outside the Priory House threw off their robes. Dark red and black armour materialized over their bodies and summoned weapons appeared in their hands. The assassins encircled the two Ansei. Ayisha ducked between them, rolling through a small opening between their legs, appearing at their backs. The nimble Khajiit ran her dagger across an assassin's throat then stabbed a second in the chest before having to fall back and defend herself. Jiles intervened quickly saving Ayisha from an unseen attacker. His steel claymorepenetrated clear through the armour and buried itself in a tangle of broken ribs. Rather than struggling to remove the blade, Jiles drew his secondary weapons, a smaller shortsword, and fought on.

Roe relied on his wooden staff, swinging it in a large circle to keep his enemies at a distance. With one end of the staff, he bludgeoned an assassin's face causing the armour helmet to bend inwards. With the opposite end, he performed a familiar maneuver - catching his enemy behind the neck and pulling him to the ground. Roe violently stomped on the back of the assassin's head.

Two of the assassins now noticed Connor and Martin standing idly by their horses. Connor drew his shortsword and bravely pushed the young priest behind him. Jiles chased down the assassins, catching one in the side of the head with a swipe from a broken pieced of wood. Ayisha threw a precisely aimed dagger into the second assassin's back. A second and third dagger slowed but did not kill the burly Nord who continued charging forward. In a miraculous display of cunning, Connor ducked underneath the reach of the Nord's blade and plunged his shortsword through the assassin's chest. The Nord finally stumbled and fell to the ground. Connor stood atop his defeated opponent and repeatedly stabbed his foe.

Roe swung his staff as if he were chopping down a tree. The wooden shaft splintered and broke against an assassin's head, knocking the man unconscious. Choosing to continue the fight with his bare hands, Roe halted an overhead strike in mid-air by grabbing hold of the attacker's wrists. Master Surro would have been proud to see the young Ansei revert to his training, using angles, redirection and leverage to avoid danger.

Jiles could hear the sound of shattering glass come from the opposite end of the Priory House. He could see two of the red-robed assailants jump from the second-story window. The assassins scurried away unharmed and procured two horses from the stables. Ayisha did not notice the two riders storming out from behind the House.

"Watch out!"

Roe dashed to her aid, tackling the Khajiit to safety. The horseback riders galloped from the Priory down the road and out of sight. Roe, Jiles and Ayisha came to their feet. Smoke billowed from the broken windows and slowly seeped through the gaps in the straw-thatched roof. Flames caressed the wooden beams and charred the gray stones of the Priory House black.

"Are you two okay?" Jiles asked.

"Check on Martin." Roe helped Ayisha to her feet.

"Fine here 'mate." Connor answered.

"The house is on fire!"

"Is anyone else inside?"

Hiding behind a stone wall, the Dunmer blacksmith made his presence known. His hands were raised to show the warriors he was no threat to them.

"Who are you?" Jiles asked.

"I'm Eronor the blacksmith."

"Where is everyone? Is anybody inside the house?"

"No, they…they _killed_ Brother Piner and Prior Maborel! I was in the sheepfold when they attacked. At first they looked like ordinary travelers. Suddenly weapons appeared in their hands and they cut down poor Maborel before he could move! They saw me watching and I ran."

The flames grew strong and heat emanated from the house. Roe could already hear the Chorrol city guardsmen mustering the townspeople to bring buckets of water and dirt to extinguish the fire.

"Where is Jauffre?" Connor asked.

"Praying in the Chapel."

Before Roe or Ayisha could tell him otherwise, Connor ran to investigate. As the Breton's hand made contact with the handle, the Chapel door swung open causing him to nearly stumble through. Waiting for him on the other side was Jauffre. In his hands was a katana blade still dripping with blood. Four assassins were sprawled lifeless on the floor of the Chapel.

"You're back! Thank Talos!" He exclaimed. "The Amulet of Kings! I fear that was the target of this attack."

"Where is it?" Connor begged.

"I kept it in a secret room in Weynon House…Talos no!" Jauffre exclaimed in dismay seeing the Priory House half engulfed in flames.

"We need to go see if it's safe."

Ayisha dashed to a nearby well and pulled up a bucket of water. Jiles and Roe prepared two blankets and doused them in the water, then draped them over the elderly priest. Fire ravaged the interior with temperatures equal to that of a cooking fire. Ayisha and Roe shared a blanket and escorted Jauffre into the Priory House past the body of Brother Piner killed by the assassins, up the stairs to a bookshelf on the second floor.

"The door is jammed! Break down the bookshelf!" Smoke choked Jauffre's every breath.

Roe and Ayisha chopped and stabbed, tearing the shelves to woodchips. A sudden rush of cool air caused the fire to swell in size, immediately engulfing the secret room in a large fireball. Roe covered Ayisha and Jauffre under their damp blankets that steamed as the fire cascaded over them. When the flames had passed, Jauffre stood and rushed inside the room.

"It's not here!"

"Are you sure?"

Jauffre nodded and Roe motioned for the priest to follow him back outside. Flaming pieces of wood fell from above like raindrops but soon they were safely outside under the care of their companions. Connor and Jiles had recovered the body of Brother Piner. The priest named Martin carried Jauffre around the arms.

"They've taken it! _The Amulet of Kings is gone! _The enemy has defeated us at every turn!" Jauffre dropped to his knees in frustration.

_"_No worries 'mate. We found Martin. He is safe."

Jauffre met eyes with the young man who carried him from the fire. The priest smiled.

"So it has not all gone against us. Thank Talos you are alive." He touched the young priest's cheek in admiration. "We gained Uriel's heir and lost the Amulet of Kings."

The townspeople now came dashing down the hill, a large wagon loaded with buckets of water and shovels in tow. Under the command of the city guard, the citizens of Chorrol went to work extinguishing the fire. Healers from the Mages Guild hall offered aid to the injured and examined the bodies of the dead.

"We should not linger here. They'll be back." Roe warned.

"Yes, you are right. We should leave at once for Cloud Ruler Temple – the hidden fortress of the Blades. Will your friends accompany us? I am thankful they were here to save our lives."

"_My friends?_ Aren't these the Blades you sent to help me?" Connor asked.

Jauffre's eyes widened and he quickly drew his katana holding it inches away from Jiles' neck.

"They are not Blades." Jauffre warned.

Connor looked at those he knew as _Carandol, Marcus and Rabi'ah, _his eyes confused and angry with betrayal.

"Who are you people?"


	15. Chapter 5 Part 1

**5**

**08 Frostfall 3E433, city of Gnisis, Vvardenfell, Morrowind**

"Nice haircut." Roe greeted.

Zidvyda bashfully ran his fingers through the thin line of hair cut in the traditionally Dunmer _ridgeback_ style. Spending only one day enjoying the hospitality of the Blades at Cloud Ruler Temple, Zidvyda was thrown back into the conflict that started with the Daedra nearly killing him at Kvatch. Roe had sent word by courier that the Dunmer was to join him at the _Madach Tradehouse_ in Gnisis on the island nation of Vvardenfell as soon as possible. Zidvyda was overjoyed to return home to his native Morrowind and selfishly made an unnecessary but prolonged visit to the capital city of Vivec. Named in honour the Living God Vivec, the city was a sprawling metropolis of _cantons_ – floating palaces towering hundreds of feet high interconnected by a series of sky bridges and a maze of rivers navigated by long boats called _gondolas. _Within each canton lived communities of men and mer. Thousands of citizens from all corners of Tamriel called the Great City home.

Zidvyda was proud to have served as a member of the _Ordinators_, Vivec's honoured guard responsible for defending and keeping the peace in the city. Though a bit put off by his long hair and gruff appearance, he was easily recognized by the gold and blue _Indoril_ armour pieces he wore, faded and torn with age and experience. The Ordinators welcomed their brother back with open arms and Zidvyda was rededicated into the Order; his hair styled, ears pierced, and face tattooed in the traditional manner. Unfortunately business called him away from the comforts of the capital city and Zidvyda pressed onward for a four day trek into the _West Gash _region. The day of his arrival marked the fifth day of an unrelenting sandstorm that made Zidvyda recall why he left Morrowind in the first place.

"Good to see you too, Roe."

Zidvyda pulled down the cloth wrap protecting his face and eyes from the grinding torrent of sand particles as he walked inside the Tradehouse. Gnisis was a small mining village founded and built in the shadow of the nearby Imperial Fort Darius - a reminder to all Dunmer of their forced subjugation to the Septim Empire. The Tradehouse had all the amenities and décor of a proper Nibenay mansion. A platoon of Legionnaires was gathered on the uppermost level, served mead and an assortment of native foods by Dunmer servants. Roe led Zidvyda down to a luxurious office on the lowermost level. A Cyrod man dressed in the gold and crimson armour of a high-ranking Legion officer waited impatiently behind an oak desk.

"General Darius, this is…"

"_Shanit._" Zidvyda finished, selecting an _Ashlander _name as his cover.

"I haven't seen too many Dunmer serving our Emperor in such a coveted position as the Blades. Your people aren't generally so _accommodating _to the Empire's needs." General Darius was careful choosing his words. "Were you an Ordinator?" He asked, noticing Zidvyda's unique armour.

"Many years ago." Zidvyda tersely responded.

"Right then, good to meet you. Your companion Carandolhas told me you have come with urgent news. No doubt it has something to do with the untimely demise of our late Emperor, gods rest his soul."

Now Zidvyda looked to Roe for direction.

"I need two of your warriors to accompany us to a Daedric shrine northwest of here."

"Oh? Daedra are worshipped openly in Morrowind. Their shrines are numerous, their followers many, so you will need to be a bit more specific."

"_Yasammidan_, far west of _Ald Velothi_ is home to a Mehrunes Dagon shrine." Zidvyda added, recalling the location of the only Daedric shrine in the vicinity.

Though the details of his journey to Morrowind had still not yet been revealed, Zid now understood his reason for coming to Morrowind was to help Roe track down worshippers of the Daedric Prince responsible for the attack on Kvatch.

General Darius rubbed his goatee, deciding whether to honour their request.

"You think the Emperor's assassins are held up there?"

"Those who killed the Emperor are dead." Roe answered. "They were pawns working to serve a greater cause."

"Do you know how much unrest it will cause if I send Legion troops into a Daedric shrine? You can appreciate what a _delicate _situation this is!" Darius asked of Zidvyda.

"I do sir, and I appreciate the concern but we're not asking for a platoon of men to conduct a large scale operation. Spare your two strongest and most professional soldiers and we'll be back in three days. We can't allow these _fanatics_ to open more gates to Oblivion or Gnisis could share the same fate as Kvatch."

"What's happened to Kvatch?" The General's face grew stern.

Zidvyda relayed the awful tale, making sure not to leave out any gruesome detail. General Darius slammed his fist down nearly splitting the wooden table in half. Zid could hear the footsteps of an eavesdropper clamber up the stairs to the Legionnaires gathered at the tavern. Shouts of outrage shortly followed. In a matter of moments the entire garrison was gathered outside the General's office. General Darius stood from behind his desk and snatched up his helmet off a nearby bedside table.

"If you wish it so, my men and I will kill _every living thing_ at Yasammidan."


	16. Chapter 5 Part 2

Gathered at the peak of a large hill, hidden inside the walls of a long abandoned farmhouse, Roe used twigs and rocks to recreate a mock-up of their target below. Sunken beneath several feet of water were the ruins of Yasammidan, a structure of _Dwemer_ origin but unknown purpose. Stacked towers crumbling with age topped by domed ceilings sprouted up from the ground. Their odd architecture reminded Zidvyda of pineapples. Roe used smoothed rocks to represent the towers and blades of grass to outline the avenues of approach. Zidvyda had seen Roe look upon the ruins only once and yet his recreation was detailed and amazingly accurate. The Dunmer carefully poked his head outside the farmhouse to double-check Roe's work.

Keeping a vigilant watch on the ruins, hidden underneath a camouflage disguise of branches and dirt were the Legionnaires Roe selected to accompany the Ansei - Nash gro-Khazor and Tokhi gro-Marob, two of the _Deathshead_ _Legion's_ fiercest Orc warriors. These would be the first Legion soldiers to strike back against the assassins responsible for the death of the Emperor and destruction of Kvatch. After hours of planning and reconnaissance, Roe signaled that it was time to plan the attack. Carefully the Orcs retreated from their observation position crawling on their bellies to avoid being seen by possible enemy sentries. Zidvyda and the Legionnaires huddled around Roe's model.

"Where are the sentries?"

Roe was never one for pleasantries, always straight to the point. Nash snapped a piece of twig into three sections and placed them at points around the model.

"Four total, axes and daggers. No long ranged weapons. Three, along the east and south approaches." Nash spoke.

"Plus one more to the north." Tokhi added. "They are stationary and the last changeover was only an hour ago."

"I agree." Nash confirmed.

"Zidvyda will take the north. Nash and Tokhi, the south. I provide overwatch from the east." Roe ordered. "Wait for my signal to move. We all meet at the entrance and go in together."

No questions.

The assault team made their preparations. The two Orc Legionnaires sunk their hands deep into the ground and took turns smearing the moist dirt on each others' faces. Zidvyda wondered why an Orc would need to further camouflage their dark green skin but he followed suit, rubbing a handful of dirt on his own face.The Dunmer also tossed aside his light-blue _Ordinator _robes and gold armour pieces in favour of darker clothing. Sundown had come and gone and heavy cloud cover signaled the approach of a possible rainstorm. It was the perfect atmosphere for a raid against the Daedric shrine.

"Excuse me, is this _Yassamidan?_" A cordial but timid voice asked.

Silence. Confused stares.

The warriors could scarcely believe that someone had found their farmhouse camp. He was a friendly looking _Altmer – _a High Elf of Summerset Isles, clad in dark robes and carrying a small dagger on his belt.

"Is this the Dwemer ruin of Yassamidan?" He repeated.

"What business do you have here?" Zidvyda spoke first, reassuring his comrades not to take aggressive action yet. "These are dangerous times for us."

"_Us?_"

After years spent as an Ordinator resolving civil issues and protecting the city of Vivec from criminals and con artists, Zidvyda could tell this Altmer was playing the fool. Roe decided to join in the charade, shoving the Altmer to the ground, frisking him for any concealed weapons.

"Lift up your arms. No one goes into the _Shrine _unless they are unarmed."

Zidvyda winked at Roe and removed the dagger from around the Elf's waist without resistance.

"What Shrine are you talking about? I'm here to explore the ruins." The Altmer insisted.

"_Enough. _We know you are here to worship _Lord Dagon_. Where did you come from? Tell us now!"

"Okay, please don't hurt me!" The Altmer capitulated. "I've been sent by the _Master _on an important mission."

"You don't say? _The Emperor_? Is that you're _Master_?"

"What? No! Of course not! My life is for Master _Mankar Camaron!_"

The ease with which Zidvyda elicited the information was remarkable.

"Who is Master Camaron?"

The Altmer was now growing suspicious of his captors.

"You don't know who the Master is? You are not _Mythic Dawn_, are you?"

"We are the defenders of Lord Dagon's last shrine in Morrowind." Now Zidvyda spoke. "Not Mythic Dawn or Morag Tong steps foot onto our sacred ground without proving themselves worthy. There are rumours of Blades roaming about the countryside and we can't be too careful. Why have you come here?"

"Master Camaron sent me here to retrieve an artifact; he wouldn't say what it was!"

"You've come here to loot our Shrine! I will see you dead!" Nash threatened, trying not to crack a smile.

"No I swear! It's a…a…_knife! _A Daedric knife.Master Camaron has sent us across Tamriel to collect as many Daedric artifacts as we can find!"

"Why?"

"It has something to do protecting Lord Dagon. He said if our enemies possess Daedric weapons they could use them against us."

Nash and Tokhi whispered to Roe that some of the actual Shrine guards were coming to investigate the commotion. They would need to end their interrogation quickly or begin their assault. Zidvyda sat the Altmer up and held him firmly around the neck.

"I want to believe you, but some Imperial soldiers are making their way up the hill as we speak. Did they follow you? Did you bring them here!" Zidvyda shouted in a whisper.

Roe and the Orc Legionnaires moved to the flanks keeping out of sight. Zidvyda released his grip and placed a hand reassuring hand on the Altmer's shoulder.

"No one followed me. I swear!"

"Alright calm down. You must return to the Master and tell him that the Empire has found us here. We will cover your escape and meet up with you later in Gnisis. From there we can safely escort you back to where you came."

"Thank you brother!" The Altmer agreed.

"If we can't make it to Gnisis in time, where should we meet you? _Where can we find the Master?_"


	17. Chapter 5 Part 3

**13 Frostfall 3E433, Lake Arrius Caverns, Cyrodiil**

Hidden by the rushing whitewater of a high mountain waterfall, Zidvyda estimated the caverns within would likely extend for miles underground. There was no telling how many Dagon worshippers could be hidden away in ambush. Unlike in Morrowind where Daedra worshippers enjoyed the religious freedom assured by the Tribunal government, the followers of this Cyrodiil shrine had likely taken extreme measures to avoid incarceration at the hands of the Legion. Somewhere inside was the mysterious _Master_, possibly the architect of the assassination of Emperor Septim, destruction of Kvatch and murder of Zid's friends Khochi and Master Zair. His retribution would be swift and unmerciful.

Roe and Zidvyda would need to figure out a way to infiltrate and eliminate the inhabitants of the shrine without sounding a general alarm. Because their investigation had led them back to Cyrodiil, Nash and Tokhi could not join them and were forced to remain with the Deathshead Legion in Gnisis.

"I don't see anyone. The sentries could be hiding on the ridge or waiting inside."

Roe nodded in agreement and came to a low crouch, half hidden behind the tall amber coloured grass speckled white with fallen snowflakes and frost. Zidvyda pulled his cowl down almost over his eyes. Roe loaded and arrow and drew the string back on his bow. The Dunmer rushed forward with Roe staying behind to cover his advance. The red moon of Masser peeked out from behind a snow cloud casting an eerie red hue of light. Zid could see a wooden door hidden behind the rushing falls. A quick glance around revealed no enemies and he signaled to Roe that the approach was clear. Roe arrived in moments and the Ansei entered inside the caverns.

The caves were damp, cold and poorly illuminated. On the opposite side of the cavern interior, voices echoed faintly off the mossy walls.

"…one else inside. The Master is preparing to…"

An exchange of glances. _This is definitely the right place _Zidvyda confirmed. There was the sound of a door closing and the latchingof a lock. Roe quickly poked out from behind cover and signaled back that he could see only one sentry. Zidvyda and Roe readied their bows.

_"Go on three." _He whispered._ "One…Two…"_

The Ansei revealed themselves for half a moment and sent two arrows sailing through the air. Roe's arrow punctured the sentry's sternum and Zid's in the eye socket. Before the man's lifeless body collapsed onto the ground, Roe and Zidvyda were loaded and ready for another volley. None was needed.

"Really? The _chest_?" Zidvyda jokingly taunted, examining the arrow buried almost up to its feathers in the sentry's torso.

"It is a killing blow."

"An arrow in the head is a killing blow."

"I knew an Orc that lived with an arrow in his eye for _twenty-seven years_. The other _Zuzas _called him _Rami un Ochi_."

"What does that mean?"

"Stick in One Eye."

"Quite original."

Roe uncaringly retrieved his arrow from the dead sentry's chest tearing away pieces of flesh in the process.

"Next time go for the heart. Now put on his robe." Roe ordered while unfastening the man's belt.

With a heavy sigh, Zidvyda helped strip the man naked and over his own armour he donned the crimson robes and hood of the Dagon worshipper – a small arrowhead sized hole barely visible in the cloth.

"This is why I aim for the face." The Dunmer poked his finger through the tear.

Roe smiled, a rare gesture, and drew another arrow in his bow. Zidvyda led the way down the cavern halls with Roe crouched inconspicuously behind.


	18. Chapter 5 Part 4

With a trail of bodies littered behind them, Roe followed Zidvyda and Zidvyda followed his instincts, navigating the turns and dead ends of the caverns listening to a barely audible echo of what sounded like a gathering of many people.

"I think we should go this way."

Roe held his loaded bow just above the Dunmer's right shoulder, his large framed silhouette hidden from view behind the flowing crimson robes. Zidvyda raised his hands as if he were waving – a signal to Roe that an enemy was ahead. With slight movements Zidvyda used his shoulder to aim the arrow at a Dagon worshipper standing by the entranceway to a large chamber. Before the sentry could utter a greeting, an arrow was shot into the man's forehead but surprisingly did not bring him down. Zidvyda dashed forward with blade in hand, his muscle memory reverting back to the years of sword drills at the Temple. The Dunmer eased the lifeless body down, careful not to make a sound.

No words.

Through the open doorway to the main cavern chamber, the Ansei could see an assembly of fifty or more worshippers gathered in awe. Like sheep to the shepherd, the masses called out, praising, begging, for their Master's guidance and knowledge. He was an Altmer of the purest complexion, dressed in a regal attire of scarlet trimmed with spotted fur and sparkling jewels as if the Master fancied himself from actual nobility. Knowing little more than his name, Zidvyda considered this a possibility though the fanatical behaviour of his assassin-minions meant the Master was likely more of a cult leader abusing the religious passions of his followers to further his own agenda. He stood proudly before his disciples and basked in their praise. His words dripped like the sweetest of honey and with outstretched minds his followers clamoured for his message:

_Praise be to Lord Dagon who from nothingness brought creation for his worship. __Praise be to your brothers and sisters. Great shall be their reward in Paradise! Hear now the words of Lord Dagon: 'When I walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other mortals forever.' Soon the weak shall be winnowed; the timid shall be cast down; the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon._

Though their lips still and their tongues silent, the worshippers raised their spirits in unison and spoke with the Master. Minds clouded with enlightenment could not see vengeance had come and stood poised, ready to strike from the shadows.

_Bury all doubt of justice, show not fear of violence for the hand of Lord Dagon strikes true and without mercy. __The Principalities have sparkled as gems in the black reaches of Oblivion since the First Morning. Many are their names and the names of their masters: the Coloured Rooms of Meridia, the Hunting Grounds of Hircine, the ten Moonshadows of Azura, and...Dawn's Beauty, the Princedom of Lorkhan, the realm of Change...misnamed 'Tamriel' by deluded mortals. Betrayed by those that served him, Tamriel is just one more Daedric realm of Oblivion, long since lost to its Prince. Lord Dagon cannot invade Tamriel, his birthright! He comes to liberate the Occupied Lands!_

A blade point through flesh and tissue. Not a sound is made. Roe and Zidvyda assumed positions overlooking the assembly.

_Distortion, fear and propaganda corrupt the minds of mortals and in their weakness they turn to the Divines – the great conspirators. Through their so called 'sacrifice' the abomination that is mankind exists - but how is it that a god can die yet the Daedra stand incorruptible? How is it that the Daedra forthrightly proclaim themselves to man, while the gods cower behind statues and the faithless words of traitor-priests? It is simple... they are not gods at all. Daedra are the true gods of this universe. Julianos, Dibella and Stendarr are all Lorkhan's betrayers, posing as divinities in a principality that has lost its guiding light. What are Scholarship, Love and Mercy when compared to Fate, Night and Destruction? _

Zidvyda drew his katana from its sheath and set it beside him, then strung an arrow into his bow. His target was the Master. He aimed directly at the Amulet of Kings dangling securely around the Master's neck. Taking into account distance, speed, his position above the altar and gravity, the arrow would cut through skin, avoid the ribcage by millimeters and pierce into the Altmer's lungs. Roe would likely do the same. In mere moments, the culprit responsible for the destruction of Kvatch and its people would fall in spectacular fashion before his worshippers. Of course that left fifty more zealots to dispense with.

_The walls between our worlds are crumbling. The Mythic Dawn grows nearer with every rift in the firmament. Soon, very soon, the lines now blurred will be erased. Tamriel and Oblivion rejoined! The Mythic Age reborn! Lord Dagon shall walk Tamriel again. The world shall be remade. The new age shall rise from the ashes of the old. My vision shall be realized. Weakness will be purged from the world and mortal and immortal alike purified in the refiner's fire. My long duel with the Septims is over, and I have the mastery. The Emperor is dead. The Amulet of Kings is mine. _

Movement in the crowd. Two worshippers from opposite ends of the room slowly navigated towards the stone podium. Zidvyda could see that Roe too had noticed this odd occurrence. Now some of the other worshippers took notice and immediately called their comrades into question with stern glares of disproval and bewilderment, careful not to interrupt the Master while he spoke.

Roe frantically waved his arms, desperate to catch the attention of his Ansei brother.

Zidvyda signaled he did not understand.

Something was clearly wrong and the Dunmer was worried they would lose the opportunity to eliminate the Master. Zidvyda's mind returned to that terrible night weeks ago – the screams of women and dying children, severed limbs, the stench of sulfur charred corpses, of Zair and Khochi. The man responsible for that atrocity was now in bowshot range. Zidvyda took aim.

Roe was practically screaming in muffled whisper, pointing his fingers down to the two zealots fast approaching the podium. The Dunmer's heart filled with anger and his fingers shook with flowing adrenaline causing the bowstring to resonate slightly.

_Let the string go! Do it now! _

Zidvyda hesitated.

The Master spoke:

_I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn! _

Zidvyda's teeth clenched with frustration.

_He's leaving! __Kill that motherfucker! _

Something is wrong. Wait a moment. Patience.

_Kill him and cut out his fucking heart! You can't let him get away! _

Just wait.

Zidvyda was distracted and did not hear Roe fast approaching.

"Hold fire." He ordered.

"I can get him."

"Wait."

Zidvyda ignored the comment and restrung his bow. Roe held firmly onto the arrow shaft. The impatient Dunmer pulled away from his brother's grasp and accidentally nudged his katana with his knee. The weapon slid and fell off the ledge several feet below with a _clank. _

The Master's focus narrowed, the corners of his lips turned upwards in admiration – a taunting smile for his would-be assassin. Zidvyda locked eyes with the enemy; his own filled with blood-curdling rage.

"Chosen of Dagon, Soldiers of His Terrible Might! Kill the intruders!"


	19. Epilogue

**23 First Seed 4E46, Skingrad**

"Please have your papers _in hand_ when you approach the desk. No pushing or shoving. An edict banning all foreign literature, clothing, fruits and other produce has been issued. All contraband must be claimed and handed over to the guards before entry or you will be arrested."

The Legionnaire escorted on both sides by red-robed Enforcer clerics barked out the welcome as he patrolled up and down the long line of Imperial citizen hopefuls. Herded outside the wooden doors of Castle Skingrad were those mistaken souls who foolishly held true the propaganda spread across Cyrodiil.

_Alas do not give in to temptation lest ye scorn the Divines and his mortal servant, Gaius Sergius Balderic the Enlightened, the Divinely Blessed Emperor of Tamriel! Our world, tainted with sin and barbarism has yet one last hope - a city of purity, of fortune and godliness! Bring your tributes to the Tower of White Gold where our Emperor may grant you citizenship and safety within its high walls. True servants of the Divines will offer not less than one thousand pieces of gold in exchange for immortal salvation! Five hundred pieces of gold is the minimum the Divines ask of all true servants. _

Like a moth to fire, the people fled too upset and frightened to make a life for themselves in the wilderness where banditry and lawlessness reigned since Balderic recalled the Legions to safeguard the last territories under his control – Bravil to the south, Cheydinhal to the east, Chorrol and Skingrad to the west and of course the Imperial City itself. Those who remained subjects of the Empire were granted citizenship and permitted to live and travel between the cities still under Imperial rule. _Processing Centers_ accepted hundreds of applications for citizenship from High Rock and parts of Hammerfell. Skingrad was the largest of these Centers. The process was lengthy and detailed, sometimes taking four to five months, purposefully done so to profit from the monthly stipend that was _required_ for citizenship.

While the applicants waited for notification, they lived as refugees in _tent communities _where sickness and poverty was rampant. Balderic used underhanded tactics and subversion to breed dissent and civil strife. Segregated by race and religion, gangs of Cyrods clashed with Bretons and Nords with Redguards each competing for the right to lick the boots of their mighty Emperor. The City guard received no help from the Legions to keep the peace.

"Keep it moving!" The guards urged. "Come along please. Next in the line, have your papers and items ready for inspection."

An elderly woman struggled to lift her heavy load. The Legion guard picked up the woman's bag and motioned for her to follow him inside. Once host to parties held in honour of the respected Count Janus Hassildor, the Grand Hall of his Castle now served as a reception area for applicants. The woman moved timidly towards the middle of the room into full view of the assembled cadre of Enforcers and Skingrad City guardsmen. Stripped of her items at the door, an Enforcer thug emptied the contents of her knapsack onto a small desk in front of her. _Three quills tied with string, a capped bottle of ink and three notebooks of parchment paper, a leather-bound copy of the Ten Commands of the Divines, a piece of toast, a bottle of scrib jelly and half an onion. _Two other city guardsmen conducted a physical security inspection with mild interest, gently frisking the woman for anything she might be hiding on her person. Kindly they asked for her to open her mouth, raise and lower her arms and empty out all her pockets. Satisfied the woman possessed no contraband, the Enforcer messily shoved the items back inside her knapsack and ordered her to report to _The Guardian_.

Seated at a long steel table was a high-ranking Enforcer known as the _Guardian of the House. _Whether by rumour or experience, _Evelyn von Heute_ was known throughout Cyrodiil, bestowed with the ultimate authority to grant or deny citizenship. She was also the chief architect of the enormous wall that surrounded the poorest section of the Imperial City - the Waterfront District. A middle-aged Breton woman of beauty and poise with hair as black as night and piercing blue eyes sat almost hidden by stacks of paper. To her left, a plump government official greedily counted the _tribute _paid to them that day. Looming over him with watchful eyes was an Enforcer of enormous stature. The elderly woman locked eyes with this Enforcer.

"Why have you come here?" Guardian Von Heute asked.

"I wish to pay my respects at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City and kneel at the feet of our most glorious Emperor Sergius Balderic." The woman answered coldly.

"Have you brought our _most glorious _Emperor tribute as evidence of your _undying love and support_ to him?" The old woman detected a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

She placed a purse of gold coins onto the desk. The plump official immediately grabbed the pouch and poured to contents onto the table, hurriedly counting the value.

"What are these?" He asked holding up a handful of precious gems.

"Malachite and topaz gems and that one is a jade."

"Where did you get them?"

"I collect them. I found these particular stones at the base of a dormant volcano."

"Where in Cyrodiil is this volcano?" Guardian Von Heute challenged, knowing the landscape of the Imperial province bore no such geographic wonder.

"Not Cyrodiil milady, _Morrowind._"

The woman removed the dark cloak covering her black hair allowing the light from the torches to reflect off her pale sky-blue skin.

"You are an _Elf!_" The government official proclaimed.

Sasha remained silent.

"Arrest her! Now!" The portly official had trouble standing. He vehemently pointed his finger, ordering the guards to take the Dunmer away as if she had a contagious disease.

The Guardian motioned for the guardsmen and her Enforcer lackey to stay their weapons. She leaned back in her chair in amusement.

"Why have you come here?" She repeated her question.

"It does not matter why! _Arrest her now!_" The official ordered.

"Be silent! I want to hear what she has to say."

"I came here to pay respects to the last true Emperor of Cyrodiil at his Temple and then I was thinking about breaking into the Palace and killing whoever I come across."

Three guardsmen with mouths full of steaming hot stew rose from their seats and surrounded the Elf on all sides. The Dunmer stood her ground. Guardian Von Heute again motioned for them to keep their weapons sheathed.

"That's an interesting threat. You are an assassin and a predictable one at that. I suppose now you will use a weapon that my guards missed while searching you to kill them and then me. Once I'm dead, you will go into the City and try to kill Balderic."

"We missed no weapons _milady_." One of the Skingrad guardsmen reassured.

"You let me have my onion back."

"An _onion?_"

"You'd be surprised what you can do with an onion." The Dunmer smiled.

Glances of confusion and anticipation.

"You know I could kill you and all your _friends _here Evelyn," Using the Guardian's first name made the Breton woman shift uneasily in her seat. "but I got this _nasty wound _the other night and I'm not really in the fighting mood right now."

The portly official chuckled in amusement. The guardsmen were unsure how to respond.

"I believe she is serious." The Guardian cautioned. "So if you don't intend on doing us harm, then why have you come?"

The elderly Dunmer did not answer the question.

"I am Sasha Arobar, daughter of Miner Arobar of House Redoran. Bring me Sir Duncan Almeric of Tyre. Tell him I know where he can find Sean Finn."


End file.
